Good as Gold
by rainjewel
Summary: *Complete!* Sequel to Right as Rain (please read that first!). Mistoffelees is back, but no one has yet explained to Old Deuteronomy what's going on. Contains slash. Don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen.
1. Uno

**Good as Gold: Part One**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own CATS. I am merely borrowing their cute fuzzy butts.

**Author's Note:** Ah ha! This is the sequel to the dearly beloved (at least by me) **Right as Rain**. And guess what? It has multiple parts!! YAY! There have been a few changes—one, I finally realized that I was spelling Mistoffelees wrong and have changed it. Two, I just want to let everyone know that although I have seen the live version of CATS, I am using the movie to write off of because I remember it more clearly (and, with it sitting mere inches away from my VCR I can use it for reference quite easily). You'll probably notice that this story has a different feel to it than it's predecessor, and that's simply because this is more of an action, plot-filled story than my character probing of poor Munkustrap & Mistoffelees. Enjoy!

**Rated: **R

_Contains Heterosexual and Homosexual Relationships. Proceed to Read at Your Own Risk._

**-----@ Mistoffelees @-----**

243 S. Boulevard, a mansion and a half, belongs to the Jemmings family. A rich, classy kind of people who believe they are better than everyone else and spend most of the time trying to live up to their claim. They throw parties almost every other night so that Mr. and Mrs. Jemmings can impress their influential corporate buddies and stay ahead in the social world of the elite. Their only child, Dorothy, attends these parties as well, even though she is merely five years old. Usually she can be seen among the waltzing couples and snotty gentlefolk sherry-drinking pushing a pink baby pram. 

How _cute_ she is, the socialites coo. How utterly adorable. How old are you dear? Five, my that makes you almost an adulta mommy, you say? Ah yes, you look like a marvelous mommy. Can I see your baby, darling?

And then, prouder than a peacock, she will hold up her baby for all to see.

Me.

With a marvelous pink petticoat and bonnet.

Yes, take pity on me.

Actually, it's not all that bad. I usually catch my needed sleep in the stroller while the humans drink and gallivant about, look on in a detached manner while being shown off to the adults, then quietly slip away when Dorothy's eyes begin to droop.

Victoria is waiting in the upper guest bedroom as usual when I make my escape. Everyone is in the ballroom and/or gardens, so no one notices the pink rocket that flies up the stairs. With a whisper the doorknob turns and the door swings open. Victoria shakes her head as I approach.

"You're so good at disappearing, Mist. Why do you always stay when you know what's in store?" she asks. "I almost think you rather like being Dorothy dressing you up like a doll."

I undo the bow around my chin and cast the bonnet on the bedroom floor. "She puts cream in my bowl on Thursdays and sometimes Mondays," I say by way of explanation.

Victoria undoes the buttons on the back of the petticoat. It's always like this—Victoria helps me out of my pink threads and then we're free to escape into the night. I could get out of this ridiculous outfit unassisted, but it's usually the only time I actually get to see Victoria, unless I venture out to the junkyard during the afternoon hours which is a rarity. I go out at night and stay till mid-morning, then come back for a meal and sleep in the pram. Victoria goes out at night and is usually back before daybreak, then sleeps until at least two.

"So where are you going tonight?" Victoria asks as I discard the repulsive petticoat.

I hesitate. I've been running off the past couple of nights without an explanation and Victoria's gotten a little irritatedand probably hurt by my silence. I rarely have much to say, but I usually give Victoria the heads up on my whereabouts. Until recently

"I'm going to go out mousing with Munkustrap tonight. I don't know where I'll be," I reply, at least halfway honest. I'll go out with Munkustrap tonight, but I doubt we'll do any mousing. The thought almost brings a smile to my face, but I hold it in.

"Mousing? you never go mousing," Victoria says as we creep down the grand staircase.

"Good time to start," I reply, shrugging.

We approach the back door of the mansion, conveniently located in the kitchen. Mitchie, our cook, usually leaves it slightly cracked open so we can paw our way out. As Victoria reaches out to open the door, it suddenly widens.

One heavy foot steps through the doorway, closely followed by another. Both are adorned by trademark white spats.

Twirling his moustache, Bustopher Jones comes into view, towering high above our heads. Immediately Victoria and I drop before him, bowing low. He smiles at Victoria's bent form and frowns at mine. A strange feeling of resentment begins to grow in the pit of my stomach and I wonder why. Feeling guilty, I struggle to squash it down.

"Good evening, Father," says Victoria. I say the same, but address Bustopher as "Sir." He is not my father, and he constantly reminds me of this everyday. I think he actually loathes me. I am the reminder that our mother loved another tom before she ever came across him. But I don't believe Bustopher Jones is as petty as that. I'm sure he hates me because of something I did long ago, but I don't remember what. He isn't the kind of cat to hold grudges without a good reason.

I love him because my mother loved him. I remember the four of us vaguely, Bustopher, Victoria, Mother, and me—we were only together for a mere three months before Mr. Jemming's backed over our dear mother in his new Lamborghini. The day she died, Bustopher stopped pretending to like me.

"Going out, love?" Bustopher Jones says. Victoria rises instantly and hugs him. He chuckles. I remain on my knees.

"Oh yes, Father!" Victoria cries, enthusiastic as always. "Plato and I are going to go dancing tonight!"

Bustopher looks displeased. "Dancing?"

"Daddy, it's perfectly all right," Victoria coos. She kisses him on the cheek. "Besides, if anything goes wrong I'll have Mistoffelees to protect me."

Inwardly I groan at Victoria's lie. Bustopher usually just ignores my presence and acts as if I was never born. However, occasionally my existence comes to light and he's reminded of his lost love's son.

Bustopher Jones growls and walks over to my bent form. "That's what I'm worried about. I don't want this freak to lose control of fingers and zap you like a bug."

Ah yes, the freak. I don't like it when he uses the truth against me. I've tried to avoid it as much as possible. Ever since I can remember I have toiled to be the perfect, high-class cat that Bustopher Jones is. I have the mannerisms; I have the gentile air. I dance like a dream and sing like a seraphim, able to charm any airheaded bloke that comes my way. I've spent millions of hours perfecting all the talents an aristocratic cat is supposed to have.

And now, I'm not so sure I want to be the next Bustopher Jones. I find that I couldn't care less about whether my speech is perfect or that I always have my fur slicked down. I'm not as affected by Bustopher's constant turned cheek. He ignores me with a passion, spits burning insults, things that always used to hurt me beyond imagination. Now I don't care. Actually, I'm feeling ratherangry.

Bustopher Jones puts his nose far up in the air. "I may tolerate your peculiarity in public, Mis" He never completes my name. To say the word "Mistoffelees," would require that he acknowledge my existence. "But I will do no such thing in the privacy of my house.

Victoria looks horrified as usual at Bustopher's scorn. I want to tell her it's not her fault. She can't help the fact that she's perfect. Instead I continue to stare at the floor, trying to keep my cheeks from pinking and ignoring Bustopher's hot breath on my neck. I wonder what would happen if I apologizedI wonder what I didI'm sorry, I am.

"No flashy antics around my daughter," Bustopher Jones continues, "You imbecile, or I will—"

"Good evening, Bustopher," cuts in a new voice. A familiar voice that makes my blood warm. Oh noI don't want _him_ to see my humility before Bustopher!

"Munkustrap!" comes Bustopher Jones's startled voice. I force my head to stay bowed, feeling an embarrassed sweat break out across my body.

"Hope you don't mind the intrusion," Munkustrap says pleasantly enough. "I just came to pick up Mistoffelees for mousing tonight."

Bustopher Jones shakes his head. "Of course I don't mind."

Sickened, I look up for the first time. Munkustrap is smiling at Bustopher, but his eyes are cold. Bustopher is sweating, but he's keeping a polite demeanor. The leader of the Jellicle tribe might bow and salute older cats, but everyone knows where the true power lies.

Munkustrap looks to Victoria. "I believe I saw Plato loitering about the lamp post outside, looking rather lonely. Perhaps you should help him in his plight." He flashes a 1000-watt smile in my sister's direction and I take a deep breath.

Victoria blushes, throws me an apologetic look, and then runs out the door. I'm too surprised at the recent development to reassure her with a parting glance.

Munkustrap turns back to Bustopher Jones. His eyes glitter and one sharp tooth pokes out from under his top lip. I recognize the look on his face and realize that something needs to be done _now._ Quickly I rise to my feet.

"Goodnight, Sir," I say to Bustopher, passing by him and standing beside Munkustrap. I smile up at his cold, handsome face. "Munkustrap, can we go mousing now? I really want to learn the proper techniques."

_Please, let's just go, I don't want you to see this._

Bustopher Jones sniffs at my goodbye. Munkustrap carefully blends his features back to a neutral expression and looks towards me. His body is pleasantly warm beside mine.

"Yes," He says, playing into the excuse. His eyes light up a bit as they meet mine. "You're doing everything terribly wrong."

I bite back a chuckle and Munkustrap walks through the doorway with me close behind.

Bustopher huffs behind us. "He's terrible at everything."

Munkustrap's claws come out like silver daggers and his muscles tense so hard he jerks.

In a quick move I put a hand on his back to soothe him and turn to the door. With a sharp snap of my fingers the door slams in Bustopher's face. Air rushes over my face like running water in the breeze. That was a little uncalled for.

Munkustrap walks away, his sleek back leaving the touch of my fingertips. Feeling awkward, I stand for a few moments while he paces forward. I know he's trying to get a grip on his anger. A dark part of me likes that he's so upset—the other part feels terrible. He doesn't know the whole storyI don't even know it.

Quietly I begin to follow him, trying to judge how this will turn out. Munkustrap is a hard cat to figure out. We walk for a few blocks until we've left the high end of town, more towards the alleys and the junkyard. I'm out of my depth in this harsh part of the city, so I hope Munkustrap will get himself together before other cats start showing up. Munkustrap is an alleycat through and through, and not one to mess with.

The thought of one particular alley cat runs through my head and I shudder. It's been over a month since the Jellicle Ball and Macavity hasn't made his move. I wish he would have. He's betting that I'll think he's forgotten all about me. I'll relax, I'll let down my guard for a minute or twoand then he'll be there.

Well, I will not be fooled so easily.

Thankfully, Munkustrap suddenly turns around in the middle of a dark alley. With strong, but no longer violent strides he is once again facing me. I feel slightly relieved. I wasn't too worried about my safety—I may be smallall right, pathetically tiny, but that doesn't mean I don't pack any punch.

Munkustrap stands a few inches away, close enough for the heat of our bodies to reach each other. I stare at his chest, unwilling to meet his eyes. He's temptingso very tempting.

"Is it always like that?" Munkustrap asks, voice a cross between a demand and a whisper.

"Yes," I say softly. What other way would he be? Munkustrap's paws curl.

"Have you always been treated this way?"

I blink. "What?"

"Has Bustopher Jones always been so horribly awful to you? I was standing right outside the door, I heard every cruel thing he said," Munkustrap says

"He's not horrible!" I exclaim.

"What? I've never heard him be so mean to anyone else in my life!" Munkustrap says.

"Bustopher isn't a mean cat," I say. "He loved my mother terribly, and she adored him as well. My mother wouldn't love a cat who was cruel!"

Munkustrap stares at me. "He hates you."

I feel my cheeks turn rosy. "Well, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it."

Argh. I didn't want Munkustrap to ever truly learn of my life at home. It's an embarrassing situation that I don't even fully understand, but I know that it's probably the result of a mistake I made in the past, and as much as I would like the situation resolvedI don't want Munkustrap to fix it if it requires him to find out about my blundering ways.

"Why are you defending him?" Munkustrap asks, looking surprised.

"There's no need for you to keep insulting him!" I say, feeling angry, putting my hands on my hips. I stare up into Munkustrap's dark eyes and wish that this will blow over. I don't get to see him that often and I don't want to waste time arguing.

"You think that you deserve his cruelty, don't you?" Munkustrap says, making it sound like an accusation.

"I told you he's not cruel! And who knows, I probably would deserve it if he was!" I exclaim. Munkustrap's eyes widen and he loses his cold look. Immediately I feel guilty. I look down to the ground. "Look, I'm sorry. That was rude to yell at you."

Munkustrap reaches out and lifts my chin with a finger. "It's not your fault. He shouldn't say the things he does."

I take his wrist in both of my paws and kiss the fingers that cradle my jaw. "It's nothing to get upset over, Munkustrap. Can we please just not discuss this? Please?"

Munkustrap looks likes he's about to object to my request, but then he gives a sharp nod. His eyes remain a little harder then usual, so I know that he's not happy with the decision. If anything he looks worse.

I look around our surroundings. I've never been in this alley before and the shadows seem darker than usual. An insane notion, but I still begin to feel uneasy. I sniff the air and smell carrion. My body goes rigid.

"Munkustrap? What is this—"

"We should leave," Munkustrap cuts in, looking anxious suddenly. "Who knows where Macavity has his little demons."

Swiftly we leave the alley, four pairs of paws skittering across the pavement. Munkustrap sticks close to my side, our bodies glancing off each other occasionally. I'm growing impatient with the need to simply pounce on him and tell him to take a load off. 

Soon we arrive at the gate to the junkyard, easily slipping through the metal bars that keep humans out but are no match for Jellicles. We make our way to the far back where everyone usually congregates. Strangly enough, there's no one there, save Rum Tum Tugger and a slumbering Alonzo, who is draped over the pipe.

I try not to look at Rum Tum Tugger, who is perched atop Pouncival's chair. He's quite lecherous, and usually has some raunchy comment or gesture to say to the two of us. Usually this is met with one of Munkustrap's classic eye rolls and a shake of the head. True to form, Rum Tum Tugger nods in our direction and winks at Munkustrap, then proceeds to lick his lips in a most unseemly manner.

I blush, as always. Rum Tum Tugger is so brazen!

Munkustrap brushes Rum Tum Tugger's vulgar motions off by simply ignoring him. I sigh, inwardly, and begin to worry. This is Munkustrap's way of dealing with emotions he does not find enjoyable—he clams up and broods silently. Usually it doesn't last long. I'll chalk up this extended version to all the stress the situation with Macavity.

Oror I have finally succeeded in making Munkustrap angry at _me_. The wrath of our unnaturally easygoing leader is cold and merciless.

Munkustrap passes through the main section of his junkyard and comes up to a far corner of the lot. There resides half of a floral print couch, and Munkustrap jumps up onto the back of it. He lies down on his side, staring out and beyond my position on the ground.

Quickly I size up the couch, then with easy movements I jump on the high cushions. I'm not as big as Munkustrap and the back of the couch is slightly beyond my physical ability. I softly settle down on the threadbare piece of furniture, resting against the arm of the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. Munkustrap seems to need some time to collect his thoughts.

Minutes pass.

Too many.

Well that's it! I hate this! I hate silence when it's not my own. II love Munkustrap so much that all I ever want to do is be with him, every single waking moment. I want to be as close to him as is physically possible.

Victoria, who is younger than me but has always acted older, once told me that when you're in love, you spend most of your time trying to be as close as you can to the cat you love. You begin to wonder, she said, if it's possible for the closeness to go beyond heated embraces, down deep on a spiritual level. You wish that your soul, your very essence, could go into your lover, therefore becoming one being—infinitely close.

A bond like that, Victoria had said, would be by far the most glorious thing in the world. She always says stuff like that. Victoria always has something, something wise, to say on the concept of lovethough she reclaims to have never been in it.

I wince as I recall another one of Victoria's sayings: Love is hard, love is painful, and it is the deadliest of all emotions.

Now I know she wasn't joking.

**~*~ Munkustrap ~*~**

We've all dreamed the same dream.

At one point or another everyone indulges themselves in the same, fabulous dream. For a moment you'll let yourself imagine, painfully so, that the individual of your dreams is desperately in love you. They are your perfect lover, more than adequate in every way. They soothe your soul, light a fire of passion deep within you, and let you taste the greatest happiness, the most perfect love, of your entire life.

However, it's only a taste. A bittersweet, euphoric, agonizing, beautifully painful thing cats can do to themselves. And only the most masochistic continue to do it day after day. The dream lover is forever just that—a dream lover. Someone unattainable, the embodiment of everything you secretly long to be.

But occasionally, when the cosmos decides to cut you a little slack, the Everlasting Cat looks down from his big litterbox in the sky and takes pity on your poor soul, you suddenly meet them; a cat that _is_ your dream lover. And for reasons no one will ever be able to understand, they love you back. It doesn't make any sense to you—you, imperfect, slow, and more-or-less a blockhead—that such a divine event could have happened.

It happened to me. For some insane reason Mistoffelees loves me and I don't know why. This perfect, unspoiled, kind, quiet, mischievous, irresistible cat has decided to put up with me and my baggage? Why? I don't know, I don't know!

And now this—the dream unravels. Mistoffelees isn't some divine being who can give and give and give to fools such as myself, even if he thinks he can. My little sorcerer does not lead a perfect life, and he needs me to stop sitting around and taking all he has. I'll drain him until he dies.

Bustopher Jonescan wait. I'll nail his tail another night. No one should distort a Jellicle's perspective about himself as horridly as that cat has done to Mistoffelees. Come to think of it, he should never, _ever_ treat another creature like that.

And if he continues after I've "discussed" the matter with himby the Everlasting Cat, I might kill him. 

Shaking my head, I move my focus to the world in front of me, not my anger. My gaze drifts to a small black cat below me. Shit! Mistoffelees is asleep! Damn it, how long have I been sitting on this couch, fuming? Jeez, I should have been paying more attention!

Lightly I jump down onto the couch cushions. I can't believe what an ass I've just been! Mistoffelees is curled in a tight black ball. His paws are pressed up against his lips and his tail is draped over his hips. He looks utterly adorable.

With a soft movement I brush Mistoffelees' paws away from his face and lightly caress his white cheeks—coloring that makes it incredibly hard for him to hide his emotions. Though I think that only applies to me. He's quite good at never letting on what's on his mind to the rest of the tribe.

Mistoffelees' big brown eyes open slowly. He doesn't move or say anything, just stares back at my face.

"Hey," I say softly, crouching down low. "I'm sorry about tonight."

Mistoffelees smiles. "Bout time you came around."

I can't help it, I frown.

"I'm just kidding," Mistoffelees says in a light tone. He begins to unfold himself until he's resting against the arm of the couch.

"I know," I say. "I'm doing good."

"Good?" He questions softly, eyebrow quirked.

"Good as gold," I reply, smiling evenly.

Mistoffelees still looks unconvinced, or he's still too sleepy to bother with facial expressions. His eyes _are_ rather puffy. I wonder how much sleep he's gotten in the past few days. With this whole Macavity thing—oh yeah, I have

I lean forward and put a paw on the arm of the couch. Slowly, almost chastely, I kiss Mistoffelees, relishing the feel and taste of his mouth. Too bad I won't be able to stay tonight.

"How much sleep have you had this past week?" I ask, briefly pulling away. Mistoffelees, instead of answering wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me against him so fiercely I all but fall onto his light frame.

Mistoffelees is intoxicating. When you kiss him, it's like drowning in a sea of wet, hot, blackness that feelswell, magical. I'd drown happily, completely at ease with death. Still, there are things I have to do tonight, and I can see the pale swirls of sunlight in the distance.

"Answer me," I say, pulling out of the kiss. Mistoffelees pouts.

"Not enough, but I'll nap tomorrow. Why does it matter?" he asks, trailing kisses down my neck and shoulders. Deliciously distracting, this angel, and he knows it.

"You look exhausted and—"

"Munkustrap!" calls out a perfectly enticing voice. I kiss Mistoffelees on the cheek and feign surprise, turning around. Mistoffelees jumps atop the couch's armwe're not a "public" couple yet, and he doesn't recognize that voice.

"Tugger?" I ask. As a reply, Rum Tum Tugger jumps up onto the couch cushion beside us. Instead of sprawling his long body all over the cushion like he usually does, Tugger stands up, towering above me. I glance at Mistoffelees, who is sitting back on his knees with an annoyed expression, then rise to my feet.

"Problem, Tugger?" I ask. Tugger grins.

"Me, have a problem?" he says with a smirk, but it quickly fades away. "Yeah, actually. I need to talk to youalone."

I nod. "Fine. I'll meet you at the gates in five."

Tugger raises an eyebrow but says nothing. With uncharacteristic silence he jumps off the couch and disappears, mane and all into the darkness. I sigh and turn around. I'm met with the vision of Mistoffelees's face inches from mine. His eyes are wide, pouting, even though his mouth is not.

"I suppose this is the last I'll see of you tonight," Mistoffelees says.

"Probably," I say softly. A black, white-tipped tail rubs against my thigh and a soft foot brushes against my calf. Only then do I glance down and realize that Mistoffelees is levitating—his whole body is a good foot off of the ground.

Returning my gaze to Mistoffelees' face, I find he's grinning in a mostseductive manner. In an effort to remove the look off his face I catch him by the waist and pull him in for a kiss. He continues to hover in the air, making him weightless in my arms. However, that doesn't keep him from holding onto my shoulders and waist as if in mortal danger. His little paws are electrifying as they draw circles across my back.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you in a few hours," I say, kissing his neck.

Mistoffelees moans in the back of his throat, and leaves a breathy "Yes," on my lips as he kisses me goodbye. I gently set him down on the cushion, feeling his full weight only for a brief second as his paws touch the surface of the couch. As I bound down to the ground I see Mistoffelees settling down to sleep out of the corner of my eye.

Immediately I'm off like a shot. Rumsy is _not_ going to be happy with me. Passing through the main part of the junkyard as if my tail's on fire, I screech to a stop in front of Alonzo. Quickly I give him a nuzzle, waking him up. 

"You're in charge, I have to leave for a moment," I say, the words running out of my mouth in a jumble. Alonzo sits up looking extremely confused, but I run off before he can say anything.

I burst out of the junkyard gates, past a reclining Rum Tum Tugger. The large tom pushes off of the brick and quickly catches up to me, sprinting on all four paws.

"Took you long enough," he says, breathing heavily as we run side by side through the dark London streets. 

"Yeah, sorry bout that. I don't know what was wrong with me, I completely forgot about tonight. Thanks for coming to get me," I reply, panting along beside him.

"I know what was wrong with you—I'll give you a hint, it's quiet, it's small, and it's black," Rum Tum Tugger says as we skid through a puddle.

I grin. "There's nothing wrong with me for loving Mistoffelees."

Tugger laughs. "Yeah, I just can't figure out how you conned him into falling for you're mangy, flea-ridden arse."

"Slow down!" I say, cutting our banter short. "Only one more block."

Both of us slow down until we come to a dead stop. We take only a few seconds to catch our breath. We're deep in the middle of the slums of the city, surrounded by bars, bums, and the ever-present empty warehouses. 

Rum Tum Tugger sniffs the air. "Smells like hell."

"You're not that far off," I say absently, taking in the view. One block away from where we stand beneath a broken street lamp resides Macavity's lair. It's a decrepit warehouse from the outside, the center of all kitty crime on the inside; the sight of my old home sends shivers down my spine.

"Hey Munksy, get out of the light!" Rum Tum hisses. 

I duck into the dark shadows of the trashcans that align the street. Tugger shoots me a worried look, but I give him a slight smirk to reassure him. 

"Okay, you keep an eye out for Macavity's rats and henchcatsI should still be able to get in there. I had as many connections as he did, and the loyalties run deep," I whisper. _Except for _my_ loyalty. _Tugger takes out a velvet pouch hanging from his belt. Inside are black bits of charcoal from his owner's fireplace. He begins to rub them into my fur systematically, making me look like a muddy black tabby.

"Not to sound too dramatic or cliché," Rumsy says as he works, "But if you're not out of there in ten minutes" He trails off.

"Don't you dare come in there," I say, glaring at my friend. "I'm Macavity's brother, he's not going to hurt me anytime soon. You, he'd kill in a second for being better looking than he is."

Tugger snorts. "Whatever. Just get in there, get the scoop, and then let's book back to the junkyard."

I nod and slip away from Tugger, gently touching his shoulder as I leave. We'd been planning this infiltration since the mess at the Jellicle Ball. The lack of action on Macavity's part means something big is coming up, and I'd rather die than have anything happen to Mistoffelees. However, this also means that I have tolie, or keep my Mistoffelees in the dark about my late night actions.

I walk at an easy gait down the dark alley, almost at a swagger. I paste on the cold, fierce mask I wore through out my kithood. Macavity and I grew up on the streets, but when the going got tough, Macavity turned to crime and I retreated to the junkyard with a kit I knewnamed Rum Tum Tugger.

I reach the door of the warehouse without so much as a glance. The street is bare, which is unusual. That can only mean one thing—Macavity's spies are out and about. I feel a pit of fear lodge in my stomachI do not like being away from the junkyard when danger is lurking about, but I'm the only one who can handle my brother.

The door to the warehouse is stained a dark brown and heavy. I rap my knuckles on it four times. It opens and I am met by a huge, hulking cat surrounded by four or five rats. Hopefully the charcoal throws him off—I only need it to get in the door. If it's possible I'll wash it off once I'm inside. I dislike having carcinogens in my fur.

"How do you come?" asks the doorcat.

"With the blessing of the Mystery Cat and the hatred of Jellicles everywhere," I reply, knowing the protocol. 

"Fruit?" Asks the huge tom. 

"Corn," I reply. Fruit equals loot, and corn equals information, due to the fact that corn comes in ears. Macavity always thought his lingo was clever. I find it childish.

The guard steps back, the rats tittering behind him. I walk through the door with an air of violent coolness that will keep the scum inside from one, recognizing me and two, bothering me.

Macavity's warehouse is basically one large room, filled to the brim with tables, which are occupied by the most obnoxious rabble. Smoke fills the air, making it hard to see through the barely lit room. The smell of alcohol is pungent and I try not to wrinkle my nose. The second floor of the warehouse is nothing more than a balcony that overlooks the ground floor, though there are a few inconspicuous rooms that serve Macavity's needs for privacy.

In the center of the alcohol, gambling, and who knows what else, sits a large, overstuffed black armchair, Macavity's throne, for all intensive purposes. Pillows lie at the feet of the chair, undoubtedly reserved for queens barely out of their kittenhood, who wish to win favor with Macavity.

I am not surprised to find that my brother is characteristically, not at his throne. Macavity has forever had a knack for not being at the place I wish for him to be. Damn.

Which means that Macavity either has an operation in motion or a meeting is taking place at this very moment. In other words, I'm screwed. Double damn.

As I turn to leave, my mission botched, I see a flash of whiteness out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I see her—white, fluffy, the dreaded queen of the seas. She weaves through the tables as if gliding through the air. Not a single tom dares look her way; Griddlebone, despite the fact that she's easily our mother's age, is Macavity's favorite queen and everyone knows it.

Yes, Griddlebone. Growltiger's Last Stand is indeed a play, and Gus does the role with finesse as does Jellylorumbut only in the realm of the Jellicles is it fiction. Out in the world of the strays, the world of Macavity, both of the cats exist. Time has passed and they have lost their years of glory, but both are nothing to be toyed with.

Currently she's walking towards the large iron ladder that leads to the top floor. No one goes up that ladder unless it's to talk to the boss, and you'd better have an invitation. There are some nice windows up there, perfect for tossing unwanted cats through.

Hmmmethinks this dame knows something. Any bets?

Breaking away from the crowd of thugs with their bets and cigars, I rush towards Griddlebone, reaching her easily. Heads turn our direction, but if I move fast this shouldn't be a problem. I catch her just before she gets to the ladder. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and place my other arm on her belly, claws out. She freezes.

"Say anything," I whisper, "And I'll rip your guts out."

Griddlebone, as usual, doesn't yield. She rolls her eyes and huffs, voice squeaky. "I'm Macavity's girl. Everyone's watching what you do. One wrong move and they'll all come after you, whoever the hell you are."

"But you'll still be dead by the time they reach me," I reply quietly. We're both side-by-side, staring at the wall. To my right is a small back door, only a yard or two away. Without a word, we walk to it. Griddlebone is made obedient by my comment, though only momentarily.

"Open the door and smile," I tell her, making it seem like I'm nuzzling her neck.

Griddlebone nudges the door open and steps through. Grabbing her tail I follow her out. However, the instant we're outside, the door shut, she rounds on me, attacking with her claws and teeth. It's as if a blizzard of white fury has suddenly descended upon me. Caught off guard, I stumble as she slams into me, gouging my chest with her claws. With a grimace I grab her arms and we fall to the side, she clawing and biting, while I try to restrain her. We roll on the sidewalk and through a puddle, my charcoaled disguise washing away instantly.

Our battle, which up to this point has been oddly silent, is brought to an end when Griddlebone recognizes her attacker.

"Munkustrap!" she gasps, surprised enough to hesitate, allowing me to pin her to the ground.

"Bingo!" I reply, breathing heavily. "How's the life of a scumbag?"

"Go to hell," Griddlebone hisses, fluffy white fur sticking out in odd directions.

"Funny, I thought I had just come back to it," I say. "Where's Macavity?"

"Missing your brother?" Griddlebone asks with a smirk. I unsheath my claws, digging them into her forearms. Her eyes darken. "He's not here. And before you ask, I don't know where he is."

I raise my eyebrows. Griddlebone usually folds pretty easily, but this was quicker than usual. That makes me suspicious, but she looks genuinely afraid of me. Odd. 

"What's he planning?" I ask. "I know he's going to try to get Mistoffelees."

Griddlebone snorts. "You're trying to save _that_ little brat? He's as good as dead by now anyway."

"Oh really?" I ask. My voice sounds cool and strong, which is _not_ exactly the way I'm feeling right now. Griddlebone has never taken life seriously. When someone dies, it's never much to her. She discusses massacres as easily as she does tea parties.

"Tsk, tsk, Munkustrap. You've left your junkyard unprotected just to take a roll with me. Well honey-buns, Macavity's connections run deeper then you think. The minute you left he knew, and he talked to some of his friendssome Pollicle friends, I believe," Griddlebone says with a smirk. 

"You're lying through your teeth," I spit at her. I feel fear course through my veins, cold and bright, but I can't let on that she's gotten to me.

"I may very well be. But you can't afford to disbelieve me. If I were you I'd make sure your little magician hasn't been made into a nice helping of Kibbles n Bits," Griddlebone says, her grin widening. 

She's quite possibly leading me into a trapbut Griddlebone rarely lies. She gets too much joy out of the horrid, sadistic truth she is usually party too. I'd rather she was leading me to my death. I'd even walk ahead of her.

Muttering a string of blue curses under my breath I rise and release Griddlebone. Before she has so much as a second to sit up and call for help, I'm out of the alleyway and running for my dear life. Rather, for the life of my tribefor Mistoffelees.

I meet up with Tugger almost immediately, tearing down the block. He must have seen me coming, for he has already started to run.

"So?" he calls out, pounding the pavement with leopard print paws. 

"There's Pollicles in the junkyard!" I yell back, falling into stride with him. I've never run this fast in my life. My eyes are wide and tear as I slice through the wind.

Rum Tum Tugger pales and his mouth drops open. The smell of fear rises, along with the morning sun. The London streets brighten and blur until the junkyard comes into view.

We slam through the junkyard gates, banging our hips and shoulders as we do so. I smell the scent of a Pollicle immediately, mixed with the smell of my brother. Panic sweeps through me and I stifle it only by throwing my will power into high gear. Now is not time for Munkustrap the emotional fuckwit; it's time for Munkustrap the Protector of all Jellicles. 

Tugger and I reach the center of the junkyard, skidding to a stop. With a blank expression, and a restraining paw on Tugger's arm, I take in the situation.

Standing, in the middle of our Jellicle sanctuary, _my_ junkyard where safety is guaranteed by yours truly, is a Pollicle. A huge, hulking Doberman, saliva dripping from it's gaping jaws. It gives off a stench that is hard to describe—feral, wet and rotting, but there is something else. 

I freeze; it's the smell of death, of pain. There is something wrong with this dogthis dog ispoisoned? Would my brother be that cruel, that vile?

Yes. It would make sense to the disturbed. Poison a dog so he is driven mad with pain, then release him on the Jellicles? Pollicle connections? No, Pollicle victims.

Before the Doberman crouches an exhausted looking, bloody Alonzo. His white and black fur is now more of a red than anything else, due to many gashes covering his form. But he is alive, breathing, and pissed off. Alonzo has a temper beyond comprehension, and in battle it serves him wellbut he's about to lose this fight.

To the side of the slobbering Pollicle stands Mistoffelees, arms widespread, shielding the cluster of kittens behind him, along with Bombalurina who is clutching an unconscious Demeter. His jaw is set and his eyes glitter with a resilience I've never seen. There is fear in the, definitely, but determination shines through. There is a large laceration down the front of his white chest, and I feel my heart skip.

Alonzo stares up at the dog, his eyes never leaving it even as he spits blood onto the ground before him. The powerful muscles of the Doberman ripple as he steps back, tensing for another charge.

Tugger, almost shivering with restraint, finally loses control with the threat to his fellow Tom and explodes from my side. Screaming wordlessly, he launches himself onto the back of the Pollicle.

And then all hell breaks loose.

The Doberman lunges at Alonzo, who springs up to meet those gaping jaws. Rum Tum Tugger scrambles for purchase on the dog's back, unable to attack until he finds his footing. Teeth rip black and white fur. Alonzo screams.

"Protect the kittens!" I order Mistoffelees, but in my heart I pray he stays out of the fight. With a wild hiss I charge the huge Pollicle.

Alonzo falls to the ground as the Doberman drops him, rounding on the offending Tugger. He lies silent and still, and for one awful moment I think he might be dead. I rush to the front of the dog and swipe at its large black nose, ripping a red line through it. The Pollicle screams, a deep, painful sound. As it does I bend down and carefully lift Alonzo's up. His eyes are half shut and he's dead weight in my arms, but he's breathing. The dog lunges to grab me but I dance back, and Rum Tum Tugger digs a pair of razor sharp claws into its shoulders, stopping the creature.

"Twins!" I scream at the top of my lungs. Scurrying forth, Tantomile and Coricocat shuffle to the front of the small group of Jellicles.

"Take him to his human. It'll take him to the vet," I say, placing the broken body of Alonzo in Coricocat's arms. The twins can locate anything, anyone within a matter of minutes. The two run off as I turn to everyone else.

"Stay back!" I order.

There is a yell. I look to the Doberman just in time to see Tugger's body flying through the air, thrown off. He collides with the top of a junk pile and rolls all the way to the ground. The dog snarls and shakes its mangy pelt.

"Tugger!" I cry. The Doberman whirls around at the sound of my voice. Its eyes are wide and dark, spit frothing all over its muzzle. Staring down on me in a frenzied craze, it begins to charge. 

My muscles bunch, and then I leap forward, running to meet the Pollicle. It only takes a few steps and I find myself airborne. I go for the eyes. Claws, my own little ministers of death, gouge the right eye. Mad as hell, the dog bucks his head, jaws snapping. I feel the teeth graze my leg, skin tearing, but I ignore the pain. My claws find the throat of the Pollicle's up-turned, bucking head.

I dig in. Blood spurts warmly over my paws. Next come my teeth, and a red heat pools into my mouth. I'm careful to keep my body close to the Doberman's neck where those deadly jaws can't reach, but the dog suddenly leaps and flops onto his side, crushing me. Hissing, blood spraying from my lips, I loosen my grip, trying to squirm out from underneath the creature.

It is a mistake. The minute I loosen my claws the Pollicle lurches to its feet, pulling me with it. Its head turns, mouth gaping. Teeth aim for my stomach but catch my hindleg, clamping down. With a quick shake of its head, the dog flings me from its body.

I land hard on the car top. My head spins, vision swimming. Slower than I need to I stand up, leg bleeding and screaming in pain, just in time to see the Doberman leaping directly at me. And I know I can't move in time.

Suddenly, I realize that I'm going to die.

A loud crackling noise breaks through the air. A blue flash momentarily glows behind the Pollicle, whose face is contorted with agony and above all of this, I hear someone screaming my name.

At once the Doberman erupts into a horrid ball of flames before my eyes. It hits the edge of the car and falls, screaming. The sound is unearthly, terrifying, and one of excruciating pain. The Pollicle takes a few steps and then falls, still howling as it burns to death.

For more than a minute I stand, stupefied by the turn of events. The heat warms my face and the smell of flesh cooking is overpowering.

As the sound grows and the dog still does not die I quickly grab a large metal rod from behind me. Without hesitation, I swing it down. My leg gives out and I tumble off the car, but the rod still connects with the poor creature's skull.

Silence resonates throughout the junkyard. 

Edging away from the still burning body of the Pollicle, I rise on wobbly legs, utterly confused. My breathing is heavy and my paws are shaking, but I'm doing surprisingly well. I supposed if I don't fix my leg soon I'll either bleed death or never be able to use it again, but for right now I can manage.

I look to Tugger. He is sitting up but seemingly all right. The rest of the tribe wasn't involved so they should be okay, which means Mistoffelees is—

Oh HeavisideI know how the Pollicle died.

Mistoffelees stands before the corpse of the Doberman, the last few flames dying out. The stench is unfathomable. Mistoffelees's eyes are huge and terrified. Hie entire body is shaking violently. He holds his paws out in front of him, staring at them in complete horror.

"It was only a spark," he whispers, his voice full of disbelief. He looks to the burnt body and then back to his paws.

Mistoffelees turns around to the Jellicles behind him. "Just a flash, a small spark"

To my horror, the other cats back away, fear evident in their eyes. Most of them have never witnessed a death, let alone one so terrible. Especially at the hands of a Jelliclea Conjuring Cat, a cat with virtual omnipotence.

A tremor, one I will never forgive myself for, courses through my body. I never _dreamed_ Mistoffelees could hold so much power. A few kittens catch my brief weakness and begin tumbling backwards, frightened by Mistoffelees, frightened by me.

Mistoffelees looks to me, deep brown eyes seeking an answer.

"I lost control," he whispers, face paling with the damnation of his own words. "I wasn't going to kill it. Not like that."

"Mistoffelees," I say, taking a step towards him.

"No!" he screams, wrapping his arms around his body. The other cats back away frantically. Mistoffelees looks to the dead Pollicle and shudders. Then, with a puff of thick smoke and a familiar spin, Mistoffelees is gone.

**~*~ -----@ END PART ONE @----- ~*~**


	2. Dos

**Good as Gold: Part Two**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own CATS. I am merely borrowing their cute fuzzy butts.

**Author's Note:** Sorry, I suppose I should have warned everyone about the Bustopher Jones bastardization. I actually really like the guy, but something's just have to be done.

**Rated: R**

_Contains Heterosexual and Homosexual Relationships. Proceed to Read at Your Own Risk._

**-----@ Mistoffelees @-----**

Hell is cold; it's colder than death, naturally.

Oh how I wish I were dead.

The moon is bright and chilling, so unlike the comforting musical aura it usually has. The stars are pinpricks of icy pain, beating down on me in unmerciful illumination. They take away my shadows and strip me of my sanctuary—I am alone, naked, and frigid as the Snow Queen herself.

Yet I feel nothing.

It has been twelve hours since the Death of the Pollicle. Twelve hours since I stepped into the dark, musty robes of Death, easily took the well-worn, polished scythe in my paw and swung the cruel blade effortlessly, losing all control.

I have lain here since then—cold with my back against the junk pile, flat as I stare at the night sky. Even the sun was chilly today. I can do nothing but shake, violent shudders that pass from my body onto the pile of scrap metal that is my bed, causing it to softly rattle.

It's so coldcolder than I ever thought—

"Mistoffelees!"

_No, no. Don't find me, don't come near. I will make you cold, like Death_. I can be Death.

Claws on the scrap metal, fighting for purchase. Silly thing, I didn't _climb_ my way up here—it's a physical impossibility. This is the tallest heap in the junkyard. I had to fly.

"Mistoffelees!"

The tall form of a Jellicle towers above me, shadow lovingly blocking the moonlight. Silver streams along the edge of the cat, making it seem as if the tom is mysticalmagical.

Munkustrap's face is pained. I stare into his eyes, past them, and out into nothingness. The cold bites down around my body. I see everything, I see nothing, but it's all kissed with ice.

"Mistoffelees!" says Munkustrap, who kneels beside me, eyes frantic and expression frightened, "Mistoffelees!"

The word rings meaninglessly in the winter of my heart. Slowly, as if I was made of glass, Munkustrap gets on his hands and knees, half-crouching, half-straddling my body. His paws reach out tentatively and draw soft, unseen landscapes on my shoulders. His thighs brush mine in a whisper, and his eyes bore into my icy hell.

Gently he leans down and kisses my neck. "It's all right, Mistoffelees. I'm here, it's all right."

Heat explodes from his mouth, screaming through my veins. I jerk sharply to the side, eyes squeezing shut. My shaking intensifies and a sharp gasp escapes my lips. Munkustrap tenderly slides his arms under my back and thighs, pressing my body to his. The heat splinters into my frozen, trembling body. Munkustrap sits up, whispering my name over and over like a prayer as he clutches me to his chest. Finally, the roaring, seductive burn melts away the cold, the numbness, reaching down into my bones and thawing my soul.

And suddenly I am alive again, painfully so.

In one agonizing second my eyes snap into focus on Munkustrap's jawbone, a moan, throaty and pitiful flits pass my lips. As if drowning, I wrap my arms around Munkustrap, clinging to him as I would a buoy. Pain blooms with the sweltering heat of my savior's body, and I want to be engulfed in his sweet flames.

"Mistoffelees?" Munkustrap asks, surprised by my sudden change.

"Closer," I whisper, my lips murmuring against his silver throat, "Closer."

I press myself against him so hard it almost hurts me, my ribs groaning with the pressure. Munkustrap obliges and holds me there. I feel my trembling go into him, causing both our bodies to quake.

"Yes," I say again, feverish with the heat, "Yes, closer. Keep me warm, Munkustrap, just keep me warm."

My face becomes the center of my own personal inferno. I can feel the flush of my cheeks and startlingly, rare tears, hot in their inadequacy, spill down from my eyes. I wonder at this phenomenon; I do not cry. I am stronger than most think, but at the same time I fear I'm weaker than the cat of Munkustrap's biased visions.

"I'm here Mistoffelees," Munkustrap says again, "Everything's okay."

His voice is soft with subtle power, his embrace strong and safe. But everything's not okay. I wonder if anything will ever be okay again. My crying increases, but I weep quietly. Munkustrap's neck is sticky with my tears, the warmth of his body mingling with the heated droplets.

"Everything is _not_ okay," I say through clenched, chattering teeth. "I killed that Pollicle with my magic. You're never supposed to use magic for violent purposes."

"You saved my life," Munkustrap interjects, lips brushing my ear. "It was the right thing to do."

"It was _demonic!_" I hiss. I turn my body so I have my back to Munkustrap's chest, his arms wrapped around my waist. My trembling begins to diminish as the chill leaves my bones.

Munkustrap runs a paw along the gash that mars my chest. The blood has dried, congealed and rusty. His body flinches behind mine.

"Oh Mistoffelees," he says, voice weak, and for the first time I realize how worried he was about me. I hear his fear, and it makes me guilty.

"It's nothing," I say, searching for an explanation. "The Pollicle found me first on my way to the middle of the junkyard. Demeter came to my aid and it hit her so hard she passed out. Others came, but the Pollicle backed us into the main section."

"Ah, I wondered what happened to Demeter," Munkustrap replies. He nuzzles the back of my neck and the rest of the ice melts inside my heart. "Does it hurt?"

"Not enough," I answer, still bent on atonement.

"Mistoffelees" Munkustrap sighs, acquiesces. "Then Tantomile and Coricocat should look at it."

I chuckle. The twins have magical powers similar to mine, though much weaker. So weak everything remains on mostly a psychic level. The thought that either of them could heal so much as a stubbed toe is impossible. Munkustrap knows so little about magic that it's amusing.

_It's also normal._

The thought sobers me, and my chuckle dissipates in the ensuing silence. MagicI see the body of the Pollicle bursting into supernatural flames. Guilt and overwhelming sorrow flood my bloodstream, and I feel tears threatening to spill once more. I raise a paw to wipe my face, and Munkustrap catches it. Gently he turns me around in his lap and puts my paw to his shoulder. For the first time I look in his eyes, and I see the grief and suffering in their brown depths. He says nothing, but I still am overcome.

Tears _pour_ down my face, undignified and unrelenting. Once again I rest my head in the crook of his neck, simply letting them flow. I do not sob—I merely let the teardrops come.

"Munkustrap," I say quietly, tasting salt on my lips. My voice quivers. "Have you everdid youhave you ever killed something?"

Munkustrap's body stiffens. He knows I'm not talking about mice. For a long time Munkustrap remains completely silent, and I listen to him breathe. Finally, his luscious voice parts the quiet air in waves.

"Yes, I have."

Pause.  


"I killeda Jellicle."

Pause.

"I was very young."

His voice is hollow, dead, with _just_ a hint of stale pain. I force myself to not think on his words—to kill a Jellicle is to kill oneself and yet—I _must_ remain only a listener. I must simply "be."

The all too familiar and shocking new feeling of despair that killers share rings in Munkustrap's words. I am comforted by this sound, and my tears almost slow to a stop. My arms snake their way around the silver chest of Munkustrap, and I hold him tight, my shivers abating slightly.

He heaves a small sighpained. I try not to say it, to ask, but curiosity is every cat's downfall. I also feel the unsaid pull of brotherly murder—someone who will grasp your bloodstained paw with one as ruby as your own.

"Whatwhat happened?" I whisper, shivering as I feel his sterling fur brush across my lips. One does not kill a Jellicle without banishmentor death.

Munkustrap's arms tighten around me, and for a brief moment I think he's not going to tell me. I don't know if I'm going to be able to tell Victoria, and I've only killed a crazed Pollicle, not a fellow cat.

"Rum Tum Tugger's mother died giving birth to him," Munkustrap says, almost too softly to hear. "She was a huge Maine Coon queen, so I'm told, and Tugger takes after her. His father, however, was all black and very small—almost your size. When I met Tugger, he was still smaller than his father, and instead of that obnoxious mane of his, all he had was a pair of scruffy shoulders. Rumsy, in the beginning, did no amount to much."

I am patient as Munkustrap's words slow to a stop, taking note of the affectionate nickname. Munkustrap is a methodical, precise tom who covers all the bases. He will show me his masterpiece, but first he will get his canvas, paint, and brushes in order. And I want to hear this tale with morbid fascination. If our wondrous Jellicle Protector is a killerthen what am I? More importantly, what should I feel towards him now? What should I do?

"Tugger's father made up for his size through his temper, and having to be responsible for Tugger made him angrier than anything else. All Rumsy would have to do was breathe, and the sonofabitch would come down on him with his claws out," Munkustrap continues.

The quiet, angry intensity of Munkustrap's words brings a rawness to his voice. I shudder at what I think he's going to tell me.

"I knew Tugger for almost two years before we came of age, and the first year was spent bandaging him up after his father had knocked him around," Munkustrap says. His claws come out as he begins to knead my back ever so slightly. He shifts under me and his tail twitches, which means the story is coming.

"It was dusk," Munkustrap begins. "I had wandered off, away from Macavity's usual gang hideouts so I could do a little mousing with Tugger. When I got to his human's house, I heard a bunch of snarling and hissing. I climbed in through an open window on the first story and flew up the stairs to the kitchen.

Tugger's dad had him pinned on the window ledge. He was on his back and his father's jaws were around his throat. _His very own father was strangling him to death_.

I remember my vision went red, and scenes from other beatings flew through my mind. I remember jumping on the counter and slamming into that bastards' body. The window screen broke when Tugger's father fell through it. I remember water splashing up onto my fur."

There was a rain barrel beneath the window. Tugger's father fell into it, but I didn't see that at first. The minute I realized I had knocked Tugger's violent, supposedly stronger father through a window, I felt a sort of calm I'd never felt before. My usually dazed, chaotic brain, made that way by dozens of Macavity's exploits, fell into order."

I turned to Rum Tum Tugger and all but picked him up, my paws checking his throat for damage. There was a large gouge on his neck that scarred quite badly, which he now hides with that collar of his. It was then that I noticed I was big, I was strong. I could easily hold Tugger, a cat taller and heavier than myself."

Rumsy then leaned over the windowsill, my arms steadying him. His eyes grew large and deadened, and I looked over the sill as well."

Munkustrap's words die and I look up to him. His eyes are bright with tears but his gaze is distant. He is in the throes of a memory no one knows, a nightmare intimately shared by only Rum Tum Tugger and himself. Those two young toms who went through so much in their early, tender livesI wonder as to whom he's holding right now, Rum Tum Tugger or me?

Softly, almost too quiet once again, Munkustrap starts to speak once more, still and stiff.

"When he fell, he must have hit the lip of the barrel. The tub was full of water, and he was drifting there, his limbs spastically trying to keep him afloat. Whatever happened, it certainly didn't affect his brain, just his body, for his eyes were glimmering with the same anger he always possessed. But this time there was fear behind it—mortal terror."

Rumsy pulled back away from the view, and without looking at me, whispered, He'll kill me if you get him out of there.'"

Of course I knew that. Paralysis or not, Tugger's father was so incredibly pernicious he would undoubtedly pull it offso it was him or Tugger."

I told him I couldn't do it. Desperate gurgles from the rain barrel reached my ears, tormenting me. I remember how wretched I sounded, how scared. Rumsy just looked at me, his eyes mirroring the same terror in his father's. The gurgling in the barrel twisted into gagging screams. I blinked once, slowly."

Tugger leaned forward once more, and right then we both knew I was going to let him die."

Goodbye Father,' he said, and his words were thick, clumsily formed. Only then did I realize how bruised and swollen his face had become; I saw the extensive violence his father had done."

Tugger walked away after that, jumping down shakily from the sill. I sat there, scared with my actions, and listened to his father die."

Voice tight with fiercely controlled emotion, Munkustrap eases his head onto my shoulder and doesn't let himself go. My paw finds its way to the back of his neck and I try not to be horrified.

"When the screams died I left the house. Rumsy hadn't even made it more than a few steps down the stairs before collapsing. I carried him to the vet, scratched on the door, and ran off. That night, I left Macavity's world of deceit and evil. Two days later I helped Rum Tum Tugger escape from the pound and we never spoke of the incident. He I found this junkyard. Old Deuteronomy happened by here one day, and the rest is history."

We sit there for almost ten minutes like that. Munkustrap's breathing is labored but steady as he pulls his composure together. His paws are comfortably heavy on my back and still.

My shaking has stopped as well. I am still as Death and suffering from extreme indecisiveness. I don't know how to react to this. To knowingly let someone die is a monstrous thing, butRum Tum Tugger's father _was_ a monster, wasn't he? I have no words of comfort, for I feel the same burden of lethal guilt and I know nothing anyone says will take it away.

"Do you hate me now?" Munkustrap whispers into my neck.

"Of course not," I murmur, closing my eyes and feeling my eyelashes brushing his jawbone. I pause a moment before asking my next question.

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes," he replies without hesitation. I blink. "Would you kill the Pollicle again?"

To my surprise I nod before I think. " But I wouldn't use magic. I lost control, and I will _never, ever_ use magic again."

The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back. However, I realize that deep in my heart _I don't want to take them back_. I lose my breath—give up magic? An arm or a leg would be less painful.

Something so dangerous has a right to hurt his much I suppose.

Munkustrap is still again. "You're serious?'

"Yes," I hear myself say, and the word rings true.

"I wish you wouldn't," he whispers.

I stir, opening my eyes. "Why not?"

Munkustrap lifts his head off my shoulder and with one paw, tilts my chin up. Thick chocolate brown swirls around in my vision as the moonlight glitters in his eyes.

"Mistoffelees, magic is a huge part of your life—it makes you who you are."

"And if this is what I am, then I don't want it," I reply, voice quivering yet strong. "I'd rather have you safe."

"Mistoffelees—"

I hold a paw to his lips. "No. Don't call me that. It's the name I gave myself when I learned the gift."

Munkustrap's eyes widen and I stare back with resolve. "It's not your Ineffable N—"

"Yes," I whisper, "Yes. He who hath been given the power of the Craft shall denounce all titles save the one thy giveth himself.' Every magician knows the rule—by revealing your name you accept the gift. Our blood tells us so. We accept, or we go insane with needor we die."

Munkustrap's paw glides to the side of my face. "The need?"

I blink. "I'm not worried. I don't need it. _Ever._"

Munkustrap stands up, bringing me with him. I step out of his hold and face him. As always, he towers above me and he reaches deep into the night, powerful frame shimmering as he stretches. It's then I realize how small I am, how weak. Sure, my body is toned from hours of scampering down mansion hallways and a lifetime of aristocratic dance, but a cat like Munkustrap, in three blows or less, could _kill_ me. My magic made me strong. With my denouncement, I can already feel it cooling in my veins. Ah, the monstrosity of the weak. 

Munkustrap impales me with his most serious look. "Are you absolutely sure?"

I fold my paws across my chest and reply with all my heart, "Only if you still love me."

"Of course, you silly git," Munkustrap says, voice slightly hoarse. I step forward, relieved, and slide my arms around him. He kisses my head.

"So what do I call you now?" he says, lips brushing my brow.

"I was named after my father," I whisper, thinking of long ago times. "He left a month after I was born," I explain.

"And what was that?"  


Deep breath. "Quaxo."

**~*~ Munkustrap ~*~**

I am confused. I am relieved. I am scared. I amI have no damn clue. 

Mistoffelees has just gone home. He didn't want me to come with him. He seems different now—distant and vague.

And he wants to be called Quaxo now. Such a damnable nameit makes me shudder to think of it.

Quaxo was the name of Rum Tum Tugger's father. Quaxo was small, black.

_"Almost your size"_

Great Bastet, I pray it's not possible. I mean, I suppose Quaxo could have seen a queen after the death of Tugger's mum, but then Rumsy would have had to know about it. And I don't keep secrets from Tugger, and he does likewise.

Doesn't he?

"Why so sad?" purrs a familiar voice, golden fur brushing past my silver.

I open my eyes halfway. "Demeter, I just had three of my most important Jellicles critically injured, another is thinking himself a vicious killer, and Jennyanydots gave me stitches without any catnip. You _know_ how bad her paws shake."

Demeter winces. "Sorry I asked."

_And I didn't even get to the part about how I killed my lover's father. By the way, my lover's another tomcat. Mrowr._

I sit up straight beside Demeter. I really do love her quite a bit, just "not like that." We're good friends in my book, and I always work my hardest to keep it that way.

"No," I say, touching Demeter's shoulder and sickening at the spark of fire in her eyes. "I'm sorry. That wasn't a very nice thing to say."

Demeter doesn't say anything for a second, just gives me one of her soul-searching looks. She knows me well, and right now I don't need a correct analysis. If that occurred the result would be nothing short of apocalyptic.

"Are you all right?" I ask, diverting her attention.

Blush rises on her cheeks and a paw flies to the back of her head. "Oh yeah. I just have a small headache." She smiles, a tiny curl of her lips. "I'm not a very good fighter."

"Demeter, you're a very good fighter. I can't thank you enough for what you did. You probably saved Mistouh, you probably saved his life."

Oh damn. That was less than smooth. The words hang in the air and I've give my right paw to have them back. 

"Mistoffelees?" Demeter asks, looking at me as if I've suddenly lost all my fur.

"Yeah," I reply, "Thanks." I look down so she can't see my eyes.

"You like him a lot, don't you?" Demeter says softly.

"Have you seen the Rum Tum Tugger?" I ask, changing the subject yet again. I feel a bubble of fear rise in my throat.

"I think he went to his den," Demeter replies, eyes looking hurt.

I look down from the tire where we reside. Before I spent the six frantic hours searching for Mistoffelees—_Quaxo_—I told all the Jellicles to go to their respective dwellings for a few days until I can insure the safety of the junkyard once again. However, not all the Jellicles have humans—strays, is what they're commonly known as. They are still here under my "protection."

Which of course means I can't leave. Damn it.

Demeter catches onto my predicament.

"I'll go get him if you want me to," she says, rising.

I smiled warmly. "You hate Tugger."

"Yeah, you hate me."  


Demeter and I whirl around, my stitched leg screaming in pain. Tugger, one hand on his hip, is smirking at us from below. 

I smile thinly and Demeter scowls. Rum Tum Tugger begins to climb up the junk pile to the tire, slower than usual. As he climbs, one of his paws slip. Lightening quick I reach out and grab his paw. He gives me a sheepish grin, but it fades as he climbs up onto the tire.

With a groan, Tugger sits down and rubs his head. "Damn dog gave me a headache," he says.

I look at him numbly. Leaning over to Demeter with a heavy heart, I whisper in her ear.

"I'm sorry Dem, but I need to talk to him. Alone."

Demeter, small and golden, nods her heard and bows out. She slips away from the tire, but I know she doesn't go far. She never does. 

I look to Tugger. His face is serious and expectant, a rarity that I alone have witnessedI seem to have seen it more than I'd like to these past couple of weeks. For a moment, all the years of our friendship fly before my face and I my nerve flutters. But then I see the stern face of Mistoffelees, now Quaxo.

"Rumsy" I begin, but stop because I can't think of the words. Tugger immediately knows something's wrong and scoots close. We sit together in silence, heads on our knees hugging our legs. Looking down on the junkyard, watching the few Jellicles sleeping in the early morning, I decide to plow ahead.

"Your father's name was Quaxo, correct?" I say, so softly that Tugger has to lean into hear my words. The smell of catnip fills the air.

"Yes," Rum Tum Tugger replies, in a voice as quiet as my own.

I look at him, staring into brown eyes that used to know happiness.

"Did he ever, after your—"

"Is this about Mistoffelees?" Tugger cuts in, voice slightly unsteady.

I stare, unblinking. "His given name is—"

"Quaxo," Tugger finishes. His face drops into his knees. "He's my brother."

It would have been easier for him to say he hated me. It would have been easier if he would have lied. It would have been easier for me to not believe him. It would have been easier if I would have died.

I close my eyes. "And you never told me."

"Did you really need to know?" Tugger asks. His shoulder brushes mine and I sigh.

"When I beganspending time with him likeI do, you should have told me. I killed his father, for Bastet's sake!"

"Shh!" Tugger spits. I open my eyes. His green gaze is scared, not angry, and his expression is haggard. "Mistoffelees doesn't even know!"

I smirk. "That's pretty apparent."

"_Look_," Tugger says, his voice irritated, "His mother was—it wasn't for a very long time and I wasn't very old! Muerte wasn't here very long, most of the time she was pregnant anyway."

"Her name was _Muerte_?" I ask, incredulous. "That's awful."

"The minute Mistoffelees was born she left. She wanted me to come with her, but I wouldn't. She saw how he beat on me. She knew it'd happen to her son. I got to hold my brother once. You wouldn't have _believed_ how tiny he was. I remember how good and fresh he smelled. Mistoffelees was new, shiny, and innocent." Tugger grins at me. I smile half-heartedly. His head bows and his smile falters after a moment. "I should have gone with her. Then we wouldn't be in this mess."

I blink. "Hardly. If you would have left, I would be one of Macavity's hoodlums, and I would have never met you or Mistoffelees. I wouldn't trade this for anything. _Ever_."

"Are you saying I should screw up more?" Tugger asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't mask yourself with humor," I say gently, smiling to soften the words.

Rum Tum Tugger sobers. "And don't you hide in nobility and smiles."

"Touché," I reply.

We sit for a while staring at the moon, shoulders touching. Both of us know we're holding each other up for support and we don't dare voice it. Tugger and I have never openly discussed how much each of us means to one another—hell, we practically avoid each other during the daylight hours.

"I'm sorry," Tugger whispers after a bit, voice shaking, "I'm sorry Munksy."  


"It'sit's all right," I reply. I stretch out and claw the tire. "So what do I do now?"

Tugger stretches as well. "I don't know. What, does he want to know about my—_our_ father?"

"No," I say, then breathe deeply. "He's giving up magic."

"What!"

"Yes. He insists he's now Quaxo, not Mistoffelees."

"Well," Tugger says, flicking dirt off the rubber, "Shit, I don't know."

"You're helpful," I say, harsher than I meant it. I feel bitterand scared.

Tugger rises to his feet and glares at me. "Do you love him?" he asks loudly.

I blink twice. "Excuse me?"

Tugger grabs my collar and looks down at me. "Do you love him? You're not just toying with him, are you?"

I flinch and shove Tugger fiercely. He's taller, but I'm stronger. He stumbles backwards but regains his balance.

"Toying with him!" I all but scream, my cool demeanor lost. "You're the one who's always toying with Jellicles! You're the Rum Tum Tugger, the tom that leads all the queens on but never gives them more than a peck on the cheek! You're the one who never told his own brother you're related. Bastet, he thinks you don't even like him! What Rumsy? Are you ever true? Do you ever let off of your curious ways and concentrate on fixing yourself? You're unhappy—don't deny it. I know, Rumsy, I know."

Tugger's jaw is wide with shock at my outburst, but he recovers quickly. "I can fix my own problems, thank you. Anyway, you _always_ need help, so how do you expect me to not interfere when _you_ need as much help as you can get! I though I'd finally fixed it when I tossed Mistoffelees your way, but—"

"You. Did. What." I cut in, cold, my calm restored as easily as breathing.

"I told Mistoffelees to go talk to you after the Jellicle Ball," Tugger says. He holds up his hands to stop my reply. "You needed him, Munksy. I saw that."

My insult dies on my tongue. Tugger sees his victory and goes for it.

"You _need_ him. And he needs you right now. So that's what you should do. If you love him, which I believe you do, be there for him. I can't do it—I can't help my brother because of my own idiocies. Besides, it's _you_ he wants."

"I could help you," I say in a raw voice. My heart jumps painfully.

"No," Rum Tum Tugger says, shaking his head. "You protect the Jellicles. You fight off Macavity. You are more our leader than Old Deuteronomy. You do not need to worry about my own personal pitfalls. Besides, I always bounce back."

His paw reaches out and clasps mine, a brotherly touch as comforting as the smell of one's mother. Rumsy, the neurotically untouchable tom, pulls me in for an embrace, patting my back fiercely. Lumps rise in my throat, emotions shooting off the charts, but I hold myself together.

"You know," I whisper, afraid of what my true voice might reveal, "You had me worried today."

"You too. When I saw you tearing out of the warehouse I almost wet myself," Tugger says. He laughs thinly and we break apart. Mistoffelees and Tugger might share the same blood, but we are the true brothers; Rumsy and Munksy, the Dynamic Duo.

"I love him you know," I say, escaping the unnamed affection Tugger and I share. "No matter what he calls himself, or who he decides he's going to be, I'll love him all the same."

Rumsy rolls his eyes. "Sap."

I grin. "Narcisstic jerk."

"Anal-retentive git."

"Egotistical scumbucket."

"Uptight, motherhen with a penis."

"Lewd, penis-envying monstrosity."

"Bet you're gay."

I throw my head back and laugh, as does Tugger. I slap Rumsy's back as we cackle together in the dark. For a moment, life is good again. Until I hear a sharp gasp, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight ofDemeter. She's sitting by the oven, mouth open and tears streaming down her face.

Oh shit.

My laughter stops abruptly, and Tugger looks at me strangely. His gaze follows mine, and his eyes widen.

"I got first watch," he says shortly, and all but pushes me off the tire to the ground.

The brotherly, familiar mood I found with Tugger dies. I beckon to Demeter with a paw and take a few steps towards her. I should have realized that she's rather notorious for eavesdropping. She shouldn't have listened; now it's too late.

"Demeter, please. Come let me explain," I whisper.

Fluidly, eyes and face still wet, Demeter slides down onto the ground. She hugs herself with golden arms. I touch her shoulder and she flinches, a strangled sob flowing out her lips. She stands before me, head bowed, waiting.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted you to feel this way," I whisper, heart breaking at the sight of her.

"We've been friends all these years," Demeter says, her voice quiet, "And I always loved you as something more."

"I know," I reply. "I'm sorry."

Demeter's head snaps up. "You knew how I felt? And you still led me on!"

I keep myself from jerking with her abrasive tone. "I never, _ever_ made an advance on you or encouraged any of your romantic affections," I reply.

Green eyes flash and Demeter wipes her face dry with one arm. She storms up to me and puts a paw to my chest. Demeter is often seen as shy and skittish, but those attributes are only skin-deep. Macavity's agents are tough, headstrong, and aggressive—as an ex-agent, Demeter is no exception.

"You _let_ me love you," she hisses through her teeth. "You did _nothing_. Why didn't you tell me about your tastes? Ever since you helped Bomba and I escape Macavity, I have told you everything, trusted you implicitly and believed you did the same!"

"Demeter, it's not something that's easily accepted," I say.

"Well," she hisses, tone haughty, "Look at whom you chose: Mistoffelees. He's a frea—"

"Tom," I cut in, finally annoyed. "And there's nothing wrong with it."

Demeter shakes her head and her voice becomes cruel and steely. "No one nowadays has a problem with toms liking toms. The problem is the _kit's_ an uncontrollable, dangerous _freak_."

"Demeter," I say, voice ominous, a deadly tone I reserve only for enemies, "I suggest you keep comments like that to yourself."

Her claws slide out, imbedding themselves in my chest, but the pain is little compared to what I've been through. Her face is full of pain and fury. "I'm better for you, Munkustrap. I know it." Her expression darkens. "Everyone will see that—even _you_."

"Are you threatening me?" I whisper.

"Not at all," Demeter replies quietly, voice neutral. She steps back, claws retracting. Her face softens into the mask most see. "I love you Munkustrap. I do, I just wish you could love me."

My eyes are still dark with anger as she slips away into the night.

**-----@ Quaxo @-----**

I'm at the junkyard. Before me, back turned, stands the Pollicle. Its wet jaws and crazed eyes are hidden from my view, but I know what they're looking at:

Munkustrap, slowly rising to his feet on the car trunk. 

Muscles ripple through the back of the dog, and suddenly he jumps into the air. 

"Munkustrap!" I scream, heart pounding, fear smashing my heart in a cold fist. Before I even have time to think, I leap forward and spin once. My arms fly outstretched before me, and a huge feeling of energy, larger than anything I've ever felt before, rolls off them in waves.

Mid-leap, the Pollicle bursts into flames. Its cries of agony shriek towards the heavens as it falls to the ground. There it writhes in pain, screaming, until Munkustrap mercifully bashes the creature's skull in with a pipe. 

I have killed. I am Death. I am—

"Mistoffelees"

I—that teasing voice. So familiar, so wrong.

"Wake up Mistoffelees."

Through a thick and hazy fog I struggle through my subconscious. I surface reluctantly, groggy brown eyes sliding open. The chenille pillow beneath me glows with cozy warmth.

I sit up and stretch, wondering about the voice. The room is dark, and my eyes are oddly slow to adjust. Usually the rooms in this stupid mansion aren't that terribly black.

"Munkustrap?" I ask questioningly. Did he follow me home? And why is he calling me—

One heavy, strong paw slams into my throat. Choking, I stumble as I'm pulled backwards onto the carpeted floor. Claws rake across my neck, but don't penetrate the skin. I slam into a thickly muscled body, arm squeezing the shoulder as it holds my throat.

"Munkustrap?" says that not-quite-familiar-voice, "Not exactly."

Yesterday, I would have simply vanished. Yesterday, I would have sent lightening bolts through this guy's balls. I would have hexed him, turned him hot pink, and teleported him to Timbuktu. As Mistoffelees, I would have done these things. As Mistoffelees, I could kill him.

But I am Quaxo.

So I sink my claws into the arm that holds me with a vengeance, and begin to twist with the flexibility dance has given me. I can fight like a normal cat.

Suddenly the lights flip on, blinding me. The paw presses down on my windpipe and I begin to make odd, gurgling noises. Black spots appear alongside the focusing of the room. My arms weaken and falter, crashing to my sides. Focusing my will power, I fight to remain standing as the oxygen is squeezed from my lungs.

Another arm wraps around my waist, pinning my arms at my side. "Don't move too much—you'll suffocate yourselfand I just might have to kill your pretty sister."

My brain burns, and the arms relax. With a barely concealed gasp I suck at the air like a fish out of water. My vision clears and terror runs down my spine at the sight.

To my horror, in the bedroom of my darling Dorothy, in _my home_, two huge toms have a hold of my sister. Victoria, even paler than usual, has a tom on either side of her, pinning her arms. She looks scared and confused, which is only normal. She wasn't here when I got home, and I wonder as to how long she's been with these thugs before I was awakened. Standing a few feet apart, our eyes meet. I smile at her bravely and mouth the words, "It'll be okay." She just stares at me in blank terror. The hulking toms are expressionless—all muscle, just as usual.

A claw taps my throat and I fall completely still. I now know exactly what is happening. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand—and that voice is a dead giveaway. Munkustrap only has one brother, only one other tom can share a voice as rich as that.

"What do you want Macavity?" I ask, voice neutral. Inside I'm quivering like a kit, but outside I'm cool. I'm Quaxo, reborn. I have no magic to hide behind. I have only myself.

That makes me feel weaker.

I feel a nose pressed against the back of my ear. "I can smell my brother on you."

My eyes widen minutely, and a point goes to Macavity. Without jerking, I look away from Victoria's gaze. _No_, I think to myself,_ no don't let this happen. Not like this._

"Look," I say, voice calm and reasonable, "I'll come with you willingly. I will go wherever you wish. You don't need to threaten my sister.

The nose presses against my neck, breathing deeply. A furry paw trails its way across my stomach, claws gentle. Fear rises in my body, a cold panic sweeping through my veins. Refusing to tremble, I let only my eyes widen.

Macavity licks my cheek. My breath quickens with my terror. Never had I considered Macavity using my sexuality as a weapon. Bastet! What if hehe tries to—NO!

"Tears," Macavity points out. Inwardly I groan—a sign of weakness I couldn't spare. I need to pull myself together. I need to gain more control over the situation. I won't falter in the face of adversity. I need to think—_I need Munkustrap!_

Macavity's lips on my ear. "Don't move."

The furry arms slip away and titters from the rats behind me calm me in a way. The need, the gut-wrenching _pull_ to disappear seizes my soul for a moment as my illusory freedom is tasted. Two cats, Mistoffelees and Quaxo, battle for control of my body, a hot, painful spark in both my brain and heart. I will Quaxo to come to me, to conquer the magic. This, I know, will be the first of many battles but I will overthrow my calling—I do _not _need magic.

Macavity saunters to the middle of the room, standing between me and my sister whose eyes I cannot meet. In the dull, everyday light, he does not appear as ferocious or wild when moonlit. His stripes almost mirror those of Munkustrap's, but his are a demented shade of red and his coat is long. I stare at his legs and not at Victoria, for in her eyes I would find a plea for Mistoffelees, for his magical powerand a demand for an explanation.

Macavity's eyes travel down the length of my body, unabashed and blazing. Nausea sweeps through my frame, so strong it almost makes me shake. I force my gaze to meet his and challenge it.

A sinister smirk graces his lips and Macavity turns to face Victoria. He steps towards her and grazes her body with his eyes as he did mine. She turns her head away as if slapped and quivers before him. I manage only two furious steps before the rats catch my arms. My claws come out and one squeaks as blood runs down its cheek.

Macavity turns around and laughs at the sight. With a wave of his paw the rats back away. I do not move; I glare. He swaggers up to me and stares down at my face. I realize then how tall he is, how large and strongso much like his brother and yet wholly different. And I also realize, I must act as if I am just as large as he—as if I were his brother. I must act like Munkustrap.

Macavity steps close, challenging me to move back. I stand tall, letting his chest come dangerously close to touching mine.

"Well," Macavity says with a grin, whispering loud enough for Victoria to hear, "I've always thought of myself as more of a queens' cat, but you, boy, are very persuasive. At least my brother still has taste."

"Certainly," I reply, ignoring Macavity's paws on my hips, "He left you, didn't he?"

I don't realize I've been hit until I feel blood on my chin and Victoria's scream ringing in my ears. Macavity's wild red arm is already back at his side as I feel the pain come buzzing into my skull from his blow. Amazed that I am actually bleeding, I raise a paw to touch my lip. Macavity, however, catches me by the wrist.

"You dare to insult me now as you dared to insult me at the Jellicle Ball," Macavity hisses.

I stare at him. I have never been hit by another cat before. It is a belittling action.

"I wouldn't insult you," I say, recovering, "If you didn't make it so incredibly easy to do so."

I feel this blow as heavy as a box of hammers. It dizzies me and makes the world seem unreal. It is followed by a short jab to my diaphragm and I find myself on my knees. My breath comes out in a wheezy racket as I fight for oxygen. Victoria is sobbing in the background, a broken sound.

"Careful now," Macavity whispers. He slams another paw into my chest and I hear a nasty crunch.

I pitch forward, vision dimming. With a smooth motion, Macavity picks me up with one arm, cradling my body as if I was a kit. I can't even remember how to breathe, let alone fight, so I lie pliant, eyes open and staring dully at the furry chest I'm pressed against.

"So small," Macavity observes. By some supernatural occurrence, I manage a decent growl at him.

Painfully air returns to me, causing my eyes to water. I press my paws to Macavity's chest but I lack the strength to push away. Macavity turns around, facing Victoria, as I struggle. She's still sobbing hysterically, every once in a while mumbling my denounced name.

"He won't stay stunned long," Macavity calls out to his toms. "Silence that annoying queen and bring me some rope!"

"No!" I scream, a sad, raspy sound. I unsheathe my claws and slice at Macavity, weak limbs straining. Pulling my last reserves together I scramble out of the insane cat's arms clawing and biting. 

Macavity drops me with a yowl. I stumble as I hit the ground, then face Victoria, running dizzily towards her. She is hissing and struggling to free herself from the grip of the two toms who hold her. Macavity is yelling, but I don't care enough to hear him. I am focused on my beautiful, innocent sister Victoria, focused on the huge paw the thug has just raised to deliver a lethal blow.

Suddenly a wave of energy spills over the room. Victoria, her two captors, and the numerous rats all fall to the ground unconscious before my eyes. The smell of magic, the smell of the preternatural power, wafts into my highly attuned nostrils. Immediately I realize what Macavity has done—a stun spell.

I skid to a stop beside my fallen sister. "Victoria!" I scream, knowing it's useless, "Wake up Victoria!"

An angry red ball of fur slams into my side. I am thrown to the ground and begin to roll, kicking at the attacking Macavity. He easily gets the upper hand in the fight and pins me to the ground. I wish for muscle and for height, but none, unsurprisingly, come.

"That spellit didn't affect you," he says, staring into my hate-filled face.

My thrashing stills as his words sink into my brain—Munkustrap has no magical calling in his bloodso how can his brother? I smirk at Macavity as we come to the realization together.

I snarl, victorious. "You don't have the calling. You're nothing but an amateur. Your pitiful magic is nothing compared to me."

Fire ignites in Macavity's eyes. He raises a paw, and suddenly the world fades into painful black.

**~*~ -----@ END PART TWO @----- ~*~**


	3. Tres

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Good as Gold: Part Three

Disclaimer: I do not own CATS. I am merely borrowing their cute fuzzy butts.

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Rated: R

__

Contains Heterosexual and Homosexual Relationships. Proceed to Read at Your Own Risk.

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~*~ Munkustrap ~*~

Three o' clock to four o' clock in the morning is easily the hardest part of the night to stay awake. That is, of course, if you don't get any sleep during the day. As a cat who generally naps during the daylight hours and stays awake all night, the lack of a snooze is wearing down on me.

And at the same time it's still hard to get to sleep. There are millions of thoughts running through my head right now. It's amazing to think of how one silly emotion can really screw up my levelheaded, always reliable logic. Demeter, Mi—_Quaxo_, Rumsy…everyone is pulling at my soul in different directions and it hurts me that I can't give each and every Jellicle my entire heart.

Oh well. I do need to catch a few Z's before I trek over to _Quaxo's_ mansion to see how he's doing. Perhaps I'll catch Bustopher Jones by his fat, furry tail and smack him a bit as well. Tugger's on watch, and I can feel his comforting presence when he brushes by. I'm lying on the tire with my back to the center of the junkyard, eyes closed in a feeble hope that sleep will come. Tugger keeps sitting at various points on the tire, moving around when he becomes restless—there's a lot of moving involved.

Sleep finally begins to caress my body with soothing, slippery fingers that ooze drowsiness into my blood. A low, virtually silent purr rumbles through my chest. I almost doze off completely to the Land of Nod when the sound of labored breathing and pained, mewling gasps reach my ears.

"Munkustrap?" calls out a thin, female voice. There is a light thud as the cat jumps to the trunk of the old Ford. I know the voice before Tugger even realizes someone's there and consider ignoring it.

"Shh!" Tugger admonishes. "He _just_ went to sleep."

__

Well, almost. If you two would quiet down a bit I'd be_ there._

"Oh but Tugger, Macavity, Macavity—"

__

"Victoria!"

There is a great movement in the air. I open my eyes immediately at the sound of my brother's name. I jump to my feet just in time to see Victoria slump the ground, a quick Rum Tum Tugger catching her shoulders. He lifts her up gently in his arms, and her eyes flutter open and shut.

My stomach drops, and an ominous feeling washes over me. My instincts say this is _not _a good thing.

I join Tugger on the trunk of the car. Victoria looks at me with large blue eyes and blinks slowly—then she bursts into tears. Rumsy's eyes go wide and I reach out my arms. Easily Victoria slips her arms around my neck and I take her from Rum Tum Tugger. He is visibly relieved to let go of the sobbing queen. Chivalry has never been one of his better qualities. 

All three of us sink to sitting positions atop the Ford. I cradle Victoria in my lap as she cries into my neck. She is shaking and clutching at my neck as if I might disappear should she let go. I rub her back with light strokes, soothing her with wordless whispers. Tugger sits silently and furrows his eyebrows as he looks to me. I shrug very carefully, a minimal movement, and he gives me a crooked grin.

"All right," I ask as soon as Victoria's sobbing lessens, "Tell me about Macavity. What happened?"

"He was there…in my house," she whispers. She thrusts her snow-white head under my chin, pressing the side of her face against my chest. "With other strays, and all his filthy rats. The instant I stepped through the house, they…they grabbed me."

I press my eyes shut for a moment in anticipation of what I must ask next. Only a second passes by, and then I open them again. "Victoria, I'll understand if you don't want to say anything, but this is important. Did they…did he…did Macavity…touch you?"

Rumsy looks away.

"No," Victoria says fiercely, her head shaking against my chest. "No. He didn't want me like that. He wanted…" 

She begins to sob again. I hug her close. "Wanted what?"

"They took Mistoffelees!" she cries out. I scream with her, on the inside. "Macavity hit him—hard. And he was acting so strangely, treating Misto as if he were…like a queen almost."

Oh _fuck_. My heart twists, my fury rises, and my fear—an absolute panic—sets in.

"Victoria," I say, trying to remain calm, trying to stay our protector. I hold Tugger's eyes with my own, controlling him with my stare, "What happened exactly? Where did they take Quaxo?"

"Quaxo?" comes Victoria's questioning voice.

I sigh. "Your brother has sworn off magic, Victoria. Before he left for your house, he told me that from now on he would like to be referred to as Quaxo. Mistoffelees is his Ineffable Name."

Victoria's sobbing builds up again. Feeling like a jerk, but knowing that time isn't slowing down for us, I press her for information again. "Victoria, please, I need to know what happened, as detailed as possible."

"I don't know," she whispers, almost crying too hard to speak, "They were going to kill me. Macavity wanted to kill me, and Mistoffelees, I mean Quaxo, tried to save me. I remember he was running towards me, and then everything goes blank. The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor; they must have—"

"—Knocked you out," Tugger says, finishing her sentence. He spits on the trunk. "Those bastards."

"What do we do Munkustrap?" Victoria mews, her voice pathetic and terrified. "I'm so scared. What are they going to do Quaxo? We have to get him back!"

"We'll get him back," I whisper. "But first I have to think of what do for you." Rumsy, who looks as if he has plans about a one tom wrecking crew, begins to fidget. I shake my head at him and he growls in the back of his throat.

"He was in your house, so don't go back there at all," I say, beginning to plot. Victoria shivers. "Can you stay with Jemima? Or perhaps Electra and Etcetera?"

Victoria, who is quieter than ever now, barely whispers. "I'll go to Jemima's."

"Good," I reply. I focus on Rum Tum Tugger. "The plan is simple—you, Alonzo, and perhaps Plato, along with myself, will go to wherever Quaxo is being held. I can sneak us in as long as we remove the guards. Once we're inside, you three will release Quaxo."

"And while we play Liberation Party," Tugger says, dusting his mane, "You are…"

"Making sure nothing like this ever happens again," I reply, tone smooth.

Tugger's eyebrows shoot to his ears in surprise. I know he's dying to run and fight—dying to ask if I'm planning on killing my brother for his. 

"So," he finally asks, rising to his feet, "How do we find out where Psycho Cat has hidden Quaxo?"

He makes the transition from Mistoffelees to Quaxo easily. But how long has he known Quaxo, and how long has he known Mistoffelees? I've said the name numerous times by now, but to hear it off the lips of another tom makes it real. Something, I feel, has been lost.

"That," I reply, "Is the hard part. Macavity has tons of hiding places for prisoners. His territory isn't very large in actuality, but he uses every nook and cranny. I doubt he's using the main headquarters, seeing as how I—"

"Munkustrap!" calls a sharp voice. I jump slightly.

Bombalurina, followed closely by Demeter, whose expression is unreadable, jumps onto the tire and saunters over to where I sit.

"Don't you know it's impolite to drone on and on about boring rescue tactics when there's a lady present?" Bombalurina asks. She stands beside Rum Tum Tugger, who looks slightly…confused. Demeter stands off to the side.

I remember suddenly about Victoria, who's still in my lap. I attempt to move and away and let her leave my lap, but Bombalurina swats my ears.

"She's asleep, you boring nitwit," she says. Remind me why I like Bombalurina so much.

"How'd you know I was planning a rescue for Quaxo?" I ask.

"Who?" asks Bombalurina. I sigh, but Tugger quickly explains the whole name change. Again.

Bombalurina flicks her tail. " Demeter told me about the rescue."

Duh. Sometimes my own stupidity shocks me.

"Got and ideas as to where he's been taken?" I ask. Bombalurina used to be on of Macavity's top agents, but then he began…well…assaulting her. Bombalurina stayed with him 'cause she had nowhere else to go. Even I left before she did. But when Macavity went after Demeter, Bombalurina threaded her courage together and sought me out. I, of course, helped them escape.

Until the night of the Jellicle Ball Demeter had never fully accepted the notion of Macavity evil side. But his catnapping of Old Deuteronomy was enough to convince her otherwise. 

Bombalurina shrugs. "Probably not headquarters or the docks. The Siamese are supposedly going to be passing through here."

"Great. As if we didn't have enough problems," Tugger moans. 

Bombalurina leans against him, red fur on black. She looks as if she has something to say, but stays silent. Tugger doesn't pull away. In the far recesses of my brain, the thought of what a wonderful couple they'd make skitters around.

"I know where Quaxo is."

All eyes shift to the small golden queen who is standing alone, staring out past the junkyard. Tugger looks expectant, but Bombalurina looks confused. 

"Excuse me?" I ask. Demeter's not psychic.

"Macavity took him to the old office building on Orion Avenue," Demeter says, voice airy and distant.

"Dem?" Bombalurina asks, lifting her head from Tugger's shoulder.

"And how do you know this?" I ask. I have a bad feeling.

Demeter blinks, then blushes. Her eyes are devoid of warmth as she looks at me, a sensation that unnerves me.

"I still have some friends in Macavity's operation. They said there was going to be a 'nap, but not in this area, which was why I didn't think too much of it. That mansion's pretty far from here, right? Orion Avenue—that's where Macavity's going to hold him. I think it's probably Quaxo."

"I never heard about a deal at Orion," I said. Bombalurina looks surprised at this as well.

"That's because your contacts are Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who aren't 'nappers," Demeter says. Bombalurina nods. I go to argue that my contacts are not simply Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, but I think twice. Something about this still doesn't feel right, but the plan's logical.

"Good point," I say, surrendering. I rub a paw across my face. "All right, we need to get going. When daylight hits, myself, Tugger, and Alonzo—"

"Alonzo's still at the vet," Tugger reminds me.

"Fine, Plato then. All of us will sneak over to Orion Avenue," I say. "I'm going to drop Victoria off at Jemima's, and Tugger, you can find Plato when I do that. Meet back here in an hour. By then—"

"By then, it should be light enough to stage an attack," Bombalurina finishes for me. I swear if one more Jellicle interrupts me I might scream. My stress levels aren't doing so hot anymore.

Bombalurina smiles at me, sickeningly sweet. "And don't think for one second that Demeter and I aren't coming with you."

"NO!" Demeter shouts. Victoria stirs in my lap, and all three of us older cats jump at the noise. Demeter shakes her head. "It's just that I was going to help the twins break Alonzo out of the vet."  
  
"Wouldn't his human just get him?" Tugger asks.

"But," Demeter says, "If Macavity is…is breaking into human houses, shouldn't he stay where we can protect him?"

I hold Victoria with my arms and stand, impatient with Demeter's weird mood swings. I also don't want to think that I might be the cause of a personality change in her. This is not the Demeter I know and love—this is Demeter the stranger, scattered and odd.

"Fine, whatever," I say, looking hard at Demeter, trying to understand. "Make sure he goes to either Jennyanydots or Jellylorum. He'll need someone to look after him…and deal with his temper. Alonzo's a terrible patient."

Bombalurina and Tugger both nod at my command. Without so much as a word Tugger jumps off the trunk to find Plato. I can almost hear him muttering about crazy toms and queens that never make any sense. If it weren't for the circumstances, I'd laugh.

"Thank you," I say to Demeter, voice gentle, "For all you assistance. I'm very grateful to have your help."

Demeter's eyes soften abruptly and begin to fill with tears. "Any time, Munkustrap. Any time."

I look at her, knowing I am the cause of those tears. She really thought I would fall in love with her. Bombalurina rushes over to her sister and wraps her in an embrace. Demeter lays her head on Bombalurina's chest while her sister licks her ears, whispering "What's wrong, What's wrong?"

I leave before I can hear the answer.

Jemima shares a house with Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks, though the latter cat is usually not around due to his work at the rails. Jemima is the latest kit that Jenny has taken under her wing. She is the youngest kitten in the tribe and an orphan as well. Jenny, having never had any kittens of her own, has always taken in the stray kits that wander into the junkyard. 

When Jemima was just a week or two old, her human went to drown her whole family, as members of that sick species sometimes do. She watched, helpless, as the man drowned her mother first and then her three brothers at the docks. Luckily for Jemima, Alonzo happened by as the man was reaching for Jemima. He took in the scene of the three dead kits and the queen, and then launched an all out attack on the man. Jemima was dropped into the sea, and the man quickly left the docks, bold scratches covering his entire face. Alonzo plucked the baby Jemima out of the sea and took her to Jennyanydots, with whom she has stayed ever since. Needless to say, Alonzo and Jemima are very close…I hope she's doing all right.

Easily I lift the basement window with a hind toe, and slip into the Jenny's house. Almost immediately a battalion of cockroaches greets me. They chitter and clack at me, but I ignore them and make my way to the small storage closet Jemima has made her own. I scratch at the door three times, the cockroaches poking my sides with forks.

"Cut it out, will yah?" I hiss at them. The closet door opens and two huge brown eyes peek out at me.

"Munkustrap!"

Why is everyone always so surprised to see me?

Jemima swats at the cockroaches, which go skittering back to the muck they belong in. I step inside the closet and carefully set the still slumbering Victoria on a pillow. Mops, brooms, and cleaning bottles line one end of the room, but the other is filled with discarded fabric, pillows, and rags. 

I turn to Jemima. "Can she stay here? Macavity attacked her house."

Jemima nods, mouth quivering. Her face is tear-streaked. I step towards her and touch her cheek with my paw. "Hey now," I whisper, "Everything's going to be all right. No need to cry."

"O-okay," Jemima stammers. I smile. She's always been so obedient and kind. She walks over to where Victoria lies and sits beside her. She looks at me, confused. "Where's Mistoffelees? He can come here if he wants to. Jenny wouldn't mind. She's busy with the mice right now, but she'll be done in a couple of minutes together."

I look away. To my horror, tears well up in my eyes, but I refuse to shed them.

"He's taken care of," I say. "I'm going to get him right now."

I turn back to Jemima. She knows that I'm lying—I can see it in her eyes. She looks terribly afraid but says nothing. I give her a watery smile, pathetic.

She blinks slowly, face contorting with pain, then looks back to me. "Is Alonzo going to be okay?"

I could almost weep at her strength. I nod. "Yes, and he might be put under Jenny's care. Though I'm not sure as too how much longer we're going to have Jellicles staying anywhere but the junkyard."

Tears shimmer in Jemima's eyes. "Thank you, Munkustrap. Good luck."

"Thank you, Jemima. Take care of Victoria, and take care of yourself," I reply. Then, quicker than the speed of light, I am out of the closet, into the shadows, and running back to the junkyard.

Tugger, of course, hasn't arrived when I get back to the junkyard. Instead, Bombalurina and Demeter are standing in the center of the junkyard. Demeter is giving her sister a hard look, Bombalurina has a pained expression on her face, and both have tears on their cheeks.

"Is everything all right?" I ask, coming close to the two sisters. Demeter looks to me, then her sister, and then runs off into the night. I watch her go, hurt and worried. Not too mention surprised…why the hell is everyone acting so weird?

Bombalurina bites her lip as she looks at me. Her eyes are as sad as they were years ago when she was under Macavity's rule. She touches my shoulder. "I'm sorry, it's nothing," she says, "How are _you_ holding up?"

I blink. "I'm fine, of course."

The reply is automatic. My actions are automatic. No hesitation, no thinking. I will not allow myself to think on Quaxo until I get him back. And probably not even then.

Bombalurina hugs me close, a surprising embrace. "It's okay, Munkustrap. You can tell me about…stuff. Demeter told me about you and…Quaxo, I guess. I just want you to know that I support…that I, I…"

Bombalurina bursts into tears. I stand stiff, fighting to be numb. I pat her back reassuringly and concentrate on being angry. Anger at my brother for terrorizing my tribe, anger at myself for letting this go on for too long. Cold, delicious anger fills me and keeps me going. I don't think on how odd everyone is acting. I don't think on what Quaxo might be going through at this moment—I just feel.

I let Bombalurina cry onto my shoulder, ignoring how hot her tears are. Inside I am ice. A few minutes later, a pissed off-looking Tugger shows up with an equally pissed off-looking Plato. The white-faced cat has had the reputation of a rebellious punk, but I know that Plato is as moral and ethical as any other Jellicle. And I also know he is very serious about his relationship with Victoria.

"All ready?" Tugger asks, laying a hand on Bombalurina's back. She sniffs and backs up (into Tugger, but he doesn't seem to mind), wiping her face with her paws. Plato has a hard look on his face. 

I look at the three of them. "Right. We're good to go. Everyone does _exactly_ as I tell them, and the only person who is allowed to question me is Bombalurina, because she has had past experience in this line of work. When we split up, you answer to her. Got it?"  


Tugger looks a little unhappy about this decision, but says nothing. As much as I love the Rum Tum Tugger, he tends to get a little hot around the collar and lose control of the situation when angered. He's scared, I'm scared, and we're both furious as hell, but my anger burns cool and calm. His burns like the fires of Hell.

"To Orion Avenue then," Bombalurina says. Four pairs of paws hit the ground.

Along the way I review the layout of the office building in my brain. Usually the place was used as a hideout for strays when other cat tribes attacked. I remember many a night spent in there with Macavity by my side, battling off invading Siamese. I do _not_ like Siamese. They are mean little buggers. The building hasn't been used for a number of years by Macavity though, so I'm surprised he'd use it to house Quaxo—especially since Macavity was under the impression that he was still using his magical powers when he captured him. But then again, I've never captured a magical cat, so I wouldn't have the first clue.

Orion Avenue is set in a dilapidated part of town, a street with only two buildings that still stand, crooked like crocodile teeth. One of these buildings is an old motel that is now only used by the human strays that roam the city. The other is the old office building of a company that wasn't around long enough to have a name worth remembering.

We split up upon arrival, Tugger with Bombalurina and Plato with me, and circle the building once. No guards. An unusual setting, so most likely it's a trap. 

I stare at the entrance to the building. It's only three stories high. All the three other cats look to me. Bombalurina is shaking. I wish she'd calm down.

"Who's ever inside has already seen us by now, or they're retarded," I say. "So we're going through the front. Cover your buddy."

Quickly, on very quiet paws, we weave our way through the shattered glass doors. I go through first and brace for the attack of numerous paws, but nothing comes. Pale sunlight fills a bare lobby, the entirety of the first floor, and reveals nothing. Shivers run up and down my spine. Something is wrong.

"There's no one here," Tugger says in wonder, coming up beside me. I smack him lightly on the head to keep him quiet.

I look to Plato. "We'll take top," I say, then point to Bombalurina. "You guys have the second floor. If you're attacked, scream."

Tugger snorts, and we all scamper up the stairs. I lead the way again, eyes latched to the ground looking for traps as Plato looks to the ceiling for any aerial attacks. Nothing. Bombalurina and Tugger depart at the second floor where old cubicles have caved in on one another. 

The third floor consists of four main business offices. I refuse to let Plato go search by himself. I've done searches where your buddy disappears and is never seen again. One is the lookout while the other rummages about in the office.

An hour later, my panic is beginning to set in. This is a dead end. I snap my fingers at Plato as he climbs out of the last drawer and we head down to the second floor. I whistle to Tugger who lashes out with his claws in my direction, and Bombalurina pokes her head out of a cubicle. 

"There's no one here," I hiss, "We're wasting time."

I put both paws to my face to keep the calm in. I must maintain control.

Tugger puts his paws on his hips. "Well Munkustrap, then where the _fuck_ did Macavity put him!"

"I don't know!" I spit at him. "Demeter thought we were going to find him here, but obviously she was wrong. So now we're going to have to check all his spots! Bastet! It's not as if _I_ know everything!" 

Tugger stares at me, as does Plato, while Bombalurina looks as if she might cry again.

I put my paws up. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just…let me think."

I back up away from my three companions until I reach the shadows, and then crouch low. My paws worry my ears as I fight down my anxiety. I let out one long, deep breath, and…don't feel any better. But I don't feel any worse. 

Bombalurina comes to me after a bit, wearing the same pained expression she was wearing when I came across her and Demeter. She sits beside me for a second, then wraps her arms around herself. Tears begin to run down her face. I finally give up and turn towards her.

"What is going on Bombalurina?" I ask in a soothing, neutral voice. "Why are you so upset? You never cry, not even when Macavity 'napped you. Why now?"

Bombalurina leans against me, and I put a gentle arm around her shoulders. Playing the chivalrous gentlemen has always been a good role for me, and I play it well. The familiarity calms me immensely, and I feel returned to sanity.

"Munkustrap," she says, shivering. "I have something to tell you."

****

-----@ Quaxo @-----

I have learned something today…er…tonight? I've kinda lost track as to whether it's day or night anymore. Oh well, doesn't matter. I've learned something—being physically knocked unconscious _hurts_. When one wakes from being knocked out by magic, it's just a dizzying sensation that gives the victim a sluggish feeling. 

This physical stuff isn't cool. It's just painful. Owie owie ow.

I also wish I knew where I was. The little room I am in is painted red with a gold ceiling. There are no windows, but one bare light bulb hangs from the ceiling. I have been awake for what seems like hours, and I long ago freed myself from the blasted chair I was placed in. Macavity duct taped my wrists to it! Bastet! That stuff rips fur out like you wouldn't believe. I don't know if I'm in trouble for "liberating" myself from the chair, but I don't care too much. 

I can't pick the lock. Actually, this door just doesn't have a doorknob on this side. Just a blank wall to stare at. Oh joy. 

Seriously, when I first woke up, I was terrified. I'm weaker than ever now that I've given Mistoffelees up. Quaxo needs to hit some weights, methinks. I shivered and almost cried, but I held it together. Now I've been in here so long I'm about going insane. I'm giddy, hyperactive, and bored out of my mind.

I can't really plan what I'm going to do when Macavity finally comes to get me. I could try to run, but I bet he'd expect that the first time around. So if I'm patient, if I'm cool, I'll sneak out when he's relaxed enough around my presence. And I'm not talking. I am one of the quietest Jellicles who ever lived. I will say _nothing_.

Then again…what if this is Macavity's punishment? What if his entire goal was to lock me in a room until I died? The thought stops me cold, and I cease my earlier activity, which was pacing. Lots and lots of pacing. Is this truly what I'm going to have to endure? Is this red room, with it's one light, my coffin?

The terror comes back.

I try to ignore it. I resume pacing and then move to practicing my dancing. But after another hour, I begin to feel hopeless. This is really my death. I sink into a corner and stare at the door. Thoughts of how long a cat can stand going without water and food begin running through my head. And what happens when I have to use the litter box?

I put my head down on my knees. As if on cue, the door opens.

My body goes cold. The fear swarms me, a wave of terror sweeping through my veins. I keep my head on my knees, and remember not to speak. I will be brave; I will not let my guard down.

The door clicks shut. There is the sound of deliberate paws on the floor.

And the light turns off.

Oh no.

"So," says Macavity's voice. "You are the magical Mr. Mistoffelees."

My eyes adjust quickly to the dark. Macavity's dark frame is standing in the middle of the room. I feel like pointing out the fact that cats have night vision, but then I remember my vow of silence. He slides a paw along the back of the chair where I'm supposed to be sitting, then laughs.

"What?" Macavity asks, walking towards me. I stare at his shins. "No magic to get your way out of here?"

__

No, you psychotic freak.

"Stand up," Macavity commands, standing before me. 

I comply with his orders. Disobeying him really doesn't get me anywhere, I've noticed. I stare at him full in the face, my expression neutral. Macavity is a criminal mastermind and he possesses the same self-awareness as Munkustrap, which allows him to keep his cool. But Macavity hasn't mastered it as well as his brother, because I still managed to piss him off. I have the headache to prove it.

Macavity stares at me, violent gold eyes glowing. He says nothing, simply looks directly into my eyes. I don't blink, I don't move. I simply focus on not letting my terror show. I might be facing Death, but I don't have to let him know he has the upper hand.

Macavity's surprisingly gentle paw cups my cheek and travels from my face to my neck. That sickening feeling roars to life in my stomach and I want nothing more than to puke all over his stinking hide. Resilient, I remain motionless.

The paw drops, and Macavity grins. "He is quiet, he is small, he is black…" he sings.

He puts a paw against the wall behind me, leaning in far closer than what I would like. I feel the power and brashness that drips from Macavity's body, and I struggle to keep my breathing steady. My mind is screaming for me to run, yell, give everything to this nutcase to keep me safe, but I refuse logic.

"You know," Macavity says, "It's hard to imagine that you're the tom who defied me." He leans in, close enough for me to spit on him. "So powerful, the magic you used. Such talent you must possess," he continues. "Is it possible you don't know of your own skill?"

Silence again, but inwardly I roll my eyes. Of course I know my own skill level. Any magician who doesn't fully understand his crafts is a disaster waiting to happen.

But then again…I killed that poor dog…perhaps—no! I won't play Macavity's mind games!

Macavity seems to echo in my brain. "No, no, you know you could be good. After all, you tricked my dear brother into falling for you."

My jaw stiffens before I can do anything. I curse myself mentally, but I'm not going to bite.

"Fuck you, Macavity."

Or I might. 

Oh Everlasting Cat. I've just said the completely wrong thing. I've never cussed in my entire life and now this. Oh dear Bastet. Panic zooms through me.

Macavity grabs me around the waist. He picks me up and slams me against the wall, holding me at eye level. The pain is dizzying, but I hold my own. The staring resumes, but Macavity smiles as he gazes.

"You said a naughty word," he points out. "But…I might take you up on your offer."

"Get off it," I snarl, swiping at him even though he just pins my arms to my sides with ease. "Every cat knows you're straight as a stick. Or am I just one more thing your brother got that you'll never have?"

Macavity's eyes narrow, and his face gets close. "I can have you, Mistoffelees."

I snort. "You can never have _me_. My body yes, but me? _Never_. And you'll never have love, Macavity, because you're a psychotic, dirty, feeble-minded little—"

Macavity cuts off my words with a kiss. I am taken by such surprise I almost forget how to breathe for a moment. I notice, as he nudges my lips open, that he has a knack for kissing—his lips are gentle, his tongue is sweet. 

And I bite it as hard as I can. I am not _that_ superficial.

Macavity yowls, a glorious noise. He drops me quickly and I land on all four paws. As he lunges for me I jump at his legs, knocking him down. Claws and teeth flying, I rip into him as hard as I possibly can.

One red and black paw comes flying up and catches me by the throat. Gagging, I claw at my throat, only to find myself being pinned to the ground. I squirm for a moment, but the paw tightens around my throat and I stop quickly.

"Do you like doing hurting others?" Macavity hisses, pressing my body to the ground with his own, holding my arms above my head. I freeze, disgusted by his actions and uncomfortable by his question.

"No," I answer, being stupid again.

"Admit it," Macavity coos into my ear, "You _liked_ scratching me up. You liked biting my tongue so that I bled. Do you like the taste of it in your mouth? You liked giving me pain, just as you secretly liked killing that Pollicle."

Pain, this time squeezed fresh from my bruised heart, spins circles in my soul. My eyes close against it. Macavity's words rattle my whole being. I _did_ like biting him. I'd do it again, and I'd laugh while I did it. I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to feel pain. I wanted that Pollicle to die. On my innermost level, I was happy that that creature had died.

But is that entirely bad? Why can Macavity make me question myself?

Macavity licks my ear. "Ah, little Mistoffelees isn't as—"

"Quaxo," I say, my eyes opening to stare at his once again. "My name is Quaxo!"

"I'm not that stupid," Macavity says, distaste in voice. "You're the same damn cat."

"My name is _Quaxo_. I'm not going to tell you why. I'm not Mistoffelees any more than you are," I spit, and a thought hits me. "You won that round—you killed him."

Macavity blinks at me and shakes his head. "Fine, be Quaxo. It doesn't matter what you decide to call yourself—you're still the same cat on the inside. Names are mere titles. Whatever you didn't like about Mistoffelees, you still have as Quaxo."

I open my mouth to say something insulting, but the words die on my lips. Macavity's words, whatever the intention might be, ring true. I'm never in control of myself. I'm always a danger. Right now I'm sitting here conversing with the Napoleon of Crime, putting Munkustrap through hell with my disappearance. 

I turn my head away from those burning gold eyes. Yes, I surrender. In the face of truth, I don't really have a choice. I close my eyes in anticipation of Macavity's evil laughter, but it doesn't come. 

"It's still in there Quaxo. You can't help it, and you can't escape it. No one can," Macavity whispers. I feel his blood on my teeth, and I know how horrible I am. This, I realize, is why I am forever the loner of the Jellicles. This is why Bustopher Jones despises me. Everyone sees how truly evil I am, even the most notorious cat alive. 

Hot tears well up underneath my closed eyelids. They track paths of weakness down my cheeks. I am stained all ready, so it doesn't even matter if Macavity sees how weak and putrid I am anymore.

Macavity rises to his feet, and I turn onto my side, curling like a fetus. I want to be left alone to die. Nothing Macavity does anymore matters. I'm capable of infinitely worse.

Soft paws slip beneath my back and legs. I am swept easily into the arms of Macavity, slumped upon his shoulder like a kit. He feels like Munkustrap, a sensation that makes groan once, lightly, before resuming my silent tears. Munkustrap, who I have deceived, who I have been making a fool out of. It's is he who I have viciously perplexed beyond reason. 

Macavity walks out of the room, carrying me as gently as he would a kit. We travel through many unlit corridors, devoid of any life, until we arrive at an ornate door. It opens silently, another one of Macavity's cheap tricks. He lowers me to the floor and I feel sick for a second as my back hits pillows. Fluffy, wonderfully light pillows are all around me as I look through my tears. I search for a piece of hard floor to lie on—pillows for me? No. I turn on my side once more, and let the tears drain from my eyes.

"Quaxo…" Macavity says, my name sounding like a sigh. I feel his weight on the pillows beside me, and I start to shake. No, not this. I'm despicable enough as it is.

Instead, however, he rolls me over so that I'm facing his chest. I stare at the jagged red, black and white stripes, tears continuing their silent pilgrimage down my cheeks. Macavity gently puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. My mind screams at the gesture, but it doesn't know what it's thinking. Nothing can equal my own terrible nature.

How could I have been so blind? Have I always known, deep inside, my own ferocity and vulgarity? I always must have turned away.

And so I lay here, being held by the one cat I was always terrified of. Now I know that that cat is actually me. Macavity croons into my ear, wishing for me to go to sleep but I can't. My eyes close after awhile and my tears dry up, but I won't fall asleep. When I sleep there are nightmares I can't face. Reality is horrid enough.

Eventually Macavity leaves me, his warm, unwanted presence disappears from my side and I am truly alone, as a dangerous cat should be.

However, less than ten minutes after Macavity's departure, another cat enters the room, the familiar scent filling my nostrils. I open my eyes and sit up. There, not even five feet away, stands a small queen.

"Demeter?" I ask, rubbing at my crusty eyes to check their accuracy. The golden queen remains, sitting primly beside the door with cold eyes. I wonder how she got here.

She stares at me for a moment, not saying anything. She looks disgusted, angry. I close my eyes—she must see me for what I truly am.

"Did he get you? Did he capture you as well?" I ask, unable to open my eyes and face her as wretched as I am. Demeter, of all cats, does not deserve to be here.

"Quaxo, isn't it now?" she asks. Her tone is colder than I've ever heard. I wonder why she didn't answer me.

I open my eyes halfway. "Does it even matter what I call myself?"

"Not to some," she says. She glares, fierce green eyes blazing. "Did you know, Quaxo, that the only thing keeping you here is me?"

She punctuates the statement with a harsh bark of laughter that hurts my ears. I'm confused, but I have a feeling that I'm not going to like what comes next.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I _hate_ you Quaxo," Demeter hisses. She stands and walks towards me, slinking with her steps. "Did you ever realize how much I loved Munkustrap before you stole him away? From the day I met him, I planned to spend the rest of my life with him. You little bastard, you took the one thing that meant the most to me in my life."

It's now my turn to laugh. Demeter is close enough to kiss, but I merely sink onto my back, pressing my paws against my face. A few errant tears escape and dampen my paws. Abrasive laughter, foreign in sound, bursts forth from my mouth. It releases some of the pain.

Demeter smacks me across the face. Her blow is a caress in comparison to my more recent punches. Still, it forces me to stop my cackling.

I stare up at her ravaged face. Never have I seen her look so tragic. "Demeter, Munkustrap is yours. You are right to hate me. If there is anyone who can equal his perfection, it's you."

"What?" Demeter asks, suddenly looking bewildered. "Did I just hear…what's _wrong _with you."

"Look at me," I whisper, spreading my arms wide. "I'm a killer, Demeter. But if that weren't enough, did you know I enjoy it? It's nothing to be proud of. Do you realize I was glad that Pollicle died? I took my claws to Macavity too, and I _loved_ it. Do you see now? You see my evil, completely base nature?"

"Quaxo," Demeter says softly, "Munkustrap is scouring the city looking for you, using false information I gave him. Now I don't understand what you're babbling about, but I'm here to save you from the damage I've done."

Tears fall from her face, mingling with my own. I stare at her in silence while I absorb the information, then turn onto my side.

"Leave me here," I whisper. "Go get Munkustrap and make a decent life in the junkyard. I belong here now. All I'm going to do is ruin him. Munkustrap doesn't deserve that."

"Everlasting Cat, what has Macavity done to you to make you think this way!" Demeter exclaims. She's holding a paw to her mouth.

I give her a watery smile. "He just made me see the truth, Demeter. Macavity didn't _do_ anything. And I thank _you_ for that. I needed to stop this deception."

"Don't you _dare_ thank me for anything, Quaxo," Demeter says. She thrusts her face close to mine, jabbing me hard in the side to turn me upright. "Now you listen to me. I did not come here to save an evil cat. I screwed up because of my own vices, all right? _You_ are the on Munkustrap loves, and even if that were the only reason I'd like you for it. Violence _is_ justifiable, Quaxo, even if you liked it or not. I myself would love to slice into Macavity. It's our nature. If we couldn't handle the fight, we wouldn't make it as a tribe. Now you stop with this self-deprecating bullshit and we'll get the hell out of here!"

"My, my, Demeter. How you have grown up. Quite an exhilarating speech."

Demeter and I both jump at the voice, scrambling to our feet. Her words, combined with those of Macavity, battle each other in my heart.

"Macavity…" Demeter hisses. Indeed, there stands the Mystery Cat himself, strong frame resting against the door. She all but wilts beside me, fear bubbling in the air.

"Well it must be my lucky day," Macavity says, walking to us. Demeter steps behind me. He looks over my shoulder to her. "How'd you get in anyway?"

Demeter says nothing. Macavity's face darkens, and he grabs for her. Without hesitation, I reach up and stop his wrist with a paw, surprising all three of us. Macavity glares down at me, reluctantly giving up his gaze at Demeter.

"Don't tell me you believe her," Macavity asks dryly. He holds my chin with his other paw, tilting it upwards. "I know you, Quaxo. We're too alike to recognize each other."

"I might be equally as despicable as you are, Macavity, but Demeter's not. You want to hurt a good and kind cat, and that's not my dish," I say, jerking my chin away.

"Good?" Macavity asks, eyebrows shooting towards his ears. "She _betrayed_ you! She wanted you to be gone forever!"

"And _I_ indirectly ruined her life! No, it wasn't a nice thing to do, but she came here to fix her mistake. This is where you and I differ, Macavity," I say, triumphant, "I recognize good and strive for it, even if my true nature is dark and vicious. I reject that evil. You embrace it."

"So simply disagreeing with yourself makes you better than I?" Macavity says, smirking. "You try to live that way, constantly presenting a false identity. Reject that overpowering evil you feel when you embrace your _true_ nature, your Mistoffelees. Explain to your Jellicles why you can't be yourself."

A splitting headache erupts in my skull at the mention of Mistoffelees. Magic crackles in deprived veins. I feel heat roll down and off my body. For a moment, I consider unleashing Mistoffelees—not the magic…just myself. I forget why I've deemed myself Quaxo.

Macavity leans close and my paw feels around the air behind me until I catch Demeter's wrist. Macavity drops the paw meant for her to his side.

"It's hard, isn't it, _Quaxo_?" Macavity chuckles. "Evil was never easy."

"You hurt cats," I say, staring at him fiercely. "And you enjoy it. You beat, kill, enslave, even _rape_ cats and you don't' ever try to hold back. I may enjoy _your _pain, but I know it's wrong. And I'll be _damned_ if I let you chatter at me about how I am as twisted as you. I may never be a hero, but I _can_ be the lesser of two evils."  


Demeter trembles as I spit the word "rape," but says nothing. Macavity's eyes narrow. He's lost his sway. Suddenly Demeter leans in and her lips begin to whisper in my ear.

"By arguing with him you're proving him wrong. _You are not evil!_ Evil doesn't see the bad in itself—it sees nothing. You _see_, Quaxo."

And with those words, she brings me back from the hell I've been thrust into. My evilness, my utter base nature, has just been redeemed. I might not be good, but I'm not a demon.

I smile at Macavity. "You lose."

The furious tom growls, immediately losing his relaxed, talkative side. Claws and fangs alike are bared, and he lunges at me without warning. I shove Demeter out of the way, yelling for her to run. I duck under Macavity's swinging arms, then slash at him with my left paw, shredding his white belly. Macavity recoils, but his arms catch my shoulder and I'm thrown to the ground. My head smacks cement beneath too-thin pillows. My vision goes fuzzy for what seems to be the millionth time this day.

Macavity picks me up and slams me against the wall, a now-familiar action. Fear and panic set in quickly, pumping my veins with adrenaline and I kick at his body, though my actions are in vain. He's too strong and I'm too small.

"If I'm not going to win you over," Macavity snarls, "I'll kill you, slowly."

Whatever reply I have to that is cut off by Macavity's next move. He draws a paw back, then slams it into my stomach, gouging my body like a knife. Blood spills, the pain indescribable, and I find myself screaming.

My body instantly goes into shock, falling completely limp. Macavity holds me against the wall, pressing my body against it with his own. Dizzy, I feel sharp, hot teeth encircle my throat.

Macavity bites down, slowly, so as to not snap my neck or immediately slice through my jugular and windpipe. Death becomes inevitable as I feel his jaws working slowly, giving me plenty of time to writhe in pain. My screams turn to gasps to shallow breathing, and blood bubbles up from my throat and flows over my lips.

A weakness sharper than anything I've ever felt before sweeps through my limbs, causing them to deaden and numb. My sight begins to recede, dark gray swirls framing my vision. I realize this is Death—and I am surprised that actually dying isn't nearly as painful as I thought it would be. Is this how the Pollicle was? Oh, I can hardly breathe anymore. My body instinctively brings its arms up to push Macavity away, but they do nothing. My eyes close as I give in—Death I was once, and Death I will be again.

Suddenly there is a terrible pain: the pain of the living. The prickly fur of Macavity is no longer scratching my chin, and I fall to the floor with a thud. I cry out at the pain, but it comes out as more of a gurgle. The high, strident scream of a queen reaches my ears.

Rough paws grab my shoulders and pull me upright. I feel the body of another cat against my back, my head lolling on their shoulder. Permeating the darkness of my world is the sounds of battle—grunts, ripping flesh, and hisses. There is sudden sharp pressure against my stomach and neck. My world clears minutely, and I struggle to keep it there. The panic of survival rises once again in my veins. I don't want to die!

"Hold him up! Quaxo! Open your eyes! Come on, little bro."

This body smells so familiar. The neck is wet with tears though, and small whimpers are coming from behind me. The image of a red queen flashes in my mind, nameless, but wildly pretty. I concentrate on this voice, this voice that isn't hers.

"Quaxo! Please, open your eyes!"

I'm trying! I want to scream. Dredging up what seems to be a ridiculous amount of energy, I manage to open my eyes. There before me is the Rum Tum Tugger, his lanky body and bulky mane not yet gone from my mind. His paws are pressed to my neck and stomach. I know he can't make the pain stop, nor can he stave off death…and yet I hope.

Blood drips from my mouth onto his paw and tears rise in his eyes. "There you go. Quaxo, now pay attention to what I'm going to tell you. Just keep your eyes open and don't let go, okay little bro? Just let Bombi here hold ya."

Oh yeah, Bombalurina. And why is he calling me "little bro?"

My body goes cold, numb suddenly. I struggle for a second, trying to feel it, but nothing happens. I take in shallow, ragged breaths.

"Oh Sweet Heaviside," Bombalurina whispers.

"Quaxo! Quaxo hold on!" Rum Tum Tugger shouts. He presses against me and Bombalurina, locking us to the wall. All I can see is his mane, but by the wetness against my back I know he's crying, and I begin to feel incredibly scared. I feel tears start to leak from my own eyes.

"Listen to me, I don't care what made you change your mind to become Quaxo, but you have to let that go, all right?" Rum Tum Tugger says. Through the blurry delirium of my mind I focus onto his words as my body begins to twitch without feeling. 

"Quaxo…that was _my_ father's name. You're my brother, see? Quaxo isn't who you are. You _have_ turn back into Mistoffelees or you're not going to make it. I don't want to see you go, all right? You're my baby brother, even though you never knew it. Please, Mistoffelees, don't give up now. Just use that magic of yours and patch yourself. For me, please!"

The world goes dark as Rum Tum Tugger finishes his sentence. Blurry thoughts spill through my mind. I have the strangest feeling of spinning, of falling. Words seem to float by my brain, spelling out the words "Quaxo" and "Mistoffelees." I shy away from the latter, and the feeling of falling increases.

"Mistoffelees! NO!" screams Rum Tum Tugger, sounding a million miles away.

Brother. Great Bastet, I have a brother. And I'm dying in his arms…Quaxo…

Quaxo is dying in his arms…but Quaxo died a long time ago. So why can't I feel anything? Why is there nothing? Oh Bastet, I'm scared…

Desperate, I unlock the careful restraint I had placed upon my magic. Calling with bloody lips that truly don't move, I summon the ancient power that has been bestowed upon me, the power that makes me who I am. Throwing all my fears, all my thoughts about my evil aside, my body rises up in a frantic need for survival. Peppery warmth engulfs me, and through the familiarity I find comfort. In a heated whirlwind of sensation I find myself buoyed up from the pit of nothingness…and yet I do not mourn the fact that I am embracing my demons in order to survive.

And suddenly amidst the familiar glow of magic, a splitting pain erupts at the base of my throat and stomach. With a gasp of air, my eyes fly wide open and I grab the paws of Rum Tum Tugger that are pressed to my body. He leans back, mouth wide as I double over in pain. Instantly the chant of a healing spell ripple through my lips, upsetting the blood that flows there. Without so much a care as for permission, the paws of Rum Tum Tugger lend me his energy, and my eyes fall halfway shut in concentration.

Skin, tissue, and blood all fall together as my wounds close. In less then a minute or two. I fall back against Bombalurina, my gaze sweeping over Rum Tum Tugger for any effects. The large cat merely sinks onto his haunches, staring at me. Carefully he lifts his paws from me and stares at my throat and stomach. I feel the smooth skin, the muscles tense with magic. It's as if I have slipped between satin sheets.

Once again, Rum Tum Tugger has delivered the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees.

I turn my head upwards to Bombalurina. Her face is twisted in sorrow, but her eyes light up at the sight of my face. Her arms around my chest tighten almost painfully, and she hugs me close.

"Mistoffelees! Everlasting Cat…you certainly gave me a scare," she says into my ear.

"Thank you Bombalurina," I whisper, voice smooth and melodious as ever. Only magic could have done that. Only magic…

I look to Rum Tum Tugger, half dazed and still amazed that I have escaped death. I smile crookedly, then reach my arms out to him like a kit. His face crumples, and immediately he is hugging both Bombalurina and I close.

My heart twists as I speak the words. "So, you're my big brother?"

"Yes," Rum Tum Tugger says, voice strained and muffled against Bombalurina's fur. "I promise I'll explain the whole story when we get back."

"Okay," I say, realizing that tears are falling from my face. Rum Tum Tugger sits back on his haunches again and I wipe my face dry. I discreetly move out of Bombalurina's embrace and test my restoration by rising to my feet. Perfect balance.

Rum Tum Tugger rises, Bombalurina following suit. I feel safe and slightly shocked from the relief these two have gotten from my return to the living. Impulsively, I rise on my tiptoes and give Bombalurina kiss on the cheek and simply rest a paw on Rum Tum Tugger's arm…actions speak more than words, especially when words could never describe what I'm feeling at the moment.

A thump is heard right beyond the door to this room. I jump at the sound and whirl to face whatever comes through it. Bombalurina tenses beside me.

A cold, sickening feeling grips my heart as I realize what's missing from this picture.

"Mistoffelees…" Rum Tum Tugger begins.

I cut him off. "Where's Munkustrap?"

****

~*~ Munkustrap ~*~

I killed the original Quaxo.

My brother kills the Original Conjuring Cat, _and_ Quaxo the Second—Quaxo reborn.

For me, it's the same nightmare all over again. Tugger, being choked to death upon the windowsill; Quaxo, pressed to the wall his throat in my brother's jaws…the images mix and fold together and finally all I see is red.

This time, however, I feel the fear. When I slammed into Macavity and pulled his greedy jaws off of _my_ Quaxo's neck, all I wanted was my brother's blood on my paws. Violence was my goal. But I saw Quaxo as he slid from the wall to the ground. Even over my cries for Bombalurina and Tugger I heard only the thud of his body and the shallowness of his breathing.

…And the lapping of blood on the cool floor.

That was more painful, more terrifying, more horrible than anything I have ever experienced. I wanted to run to him right then, look into his eyes one last time before they closed. Bombalurina, however, was the one who cradled him in her arms, Tugger the one who soothed and spoke to him. I grow cold inside and tossed my brother into the hallway, shutting the doors tight before he could stand again.

So it has come to pass that in a few simple hours my junkyard has been attacked by a Pollicle, I have been betrayed by my friend Demeter and manipulated by her through Bombalurina, and I have had to deal with the catnapping of my…my Quaxo. Who is, I must tell myself or die as well, still alive.

Macavity is grinning at me maniacally from across the hall.

"He's mine now, you know," Macavity says. "In life or death, I still broke him to me. I made him realize how despicable he truly is."

"He is neither despicable or owned by anyone, least of all you," I hiss. Macavity, with his back against the wall isn't crouching, but I know he's planning an attack. With his hands on his hips and stance wide, his eyes are stealthily planning his next move.

"But you're owned by him," Macavity says, head swaying side to side.

"No one ever owns a cat," I say. I weight myself on the balls of my feet and tense.

Macavity grins wickedly. "I got him, and therefore I have you. Dear brother, you're mine as well."

"If you truly owned me, why am I here fighting you?" I ask. I flash my teeth. "Come and get me, baby brother."

Instantly Macavity is off the wall. His arm whips fast above my head and I duck, but his other paw slices my shoulder as I turn. The blow is shallow. I jump to the side and slash at his chest, drawing a deep gash.

Macavity stumbles back, paw to his chest. His face is pained, but looks more surprised than anything else.

I smile, my own wickedness coming through. "Didn't think I could hit like that, did you? Baby brother, I'm not pulling my punches anymore."

Macavity snarls and flings himself at me. His teeth catch my shoulder and we go crashing to the floor. Teeth, claws, and kicking feet become my world and all I feel is our blood mingling together—our shared blood that seems to find itself once again. I fight savagely and without reserve. I fight just like Macavity.

I am smaller than Macavity, but I'm mad as hell. I am cornered, I am hurt, and my heart bleeds for Quaxo. I smash him into the wall, claws ripping into his side. He screams in pain, and it sounds like myself. Am I truly killing myself? Perhaps, but I'd die a thousand deaths, kill a million brothers, to save Quaxo.

Or avenge him.

Macavity's face twists, and I'm thrown from his body without so much as a movement. My head kisses the cement of the hall floor and I hear a crack. Deep laughter fills my ears. Reality is somewhat left of the center, but I stand anyway. 

"Parlor tricks, Macavity?" I say. Macavity picks himself up off the floor, shaky and weak. He looks more pathetic than anything I have ever seen. I wipe blood from my mouth and chin and wonder if it's mine. "Can my baby brother not finish a fight like a tom? Not surprising—you've never won a fair fight. I don't think you've ever fought a fair fight."

Macavity extends a shaky paw. "And you've never won by yourself."

Another blast of energy ripples through the air and hits my body full force. I drop to my knees and it takes every ounce of strength I have to stay put. In a blink it's over and as I look up, Macavity pounces on me. Teeth close around my neck.

Without a thought I grab his neck and pull him off of me. Macavity's face is wide with surprise. I roll him over and pin him to the ground. Energy begins to pulse, warning of more magic. I pinch his windpipe. His golden eyes open wide and he thrashes violently. Immediately the pressure of the magic fades. 

"I'm going to kill you, Macavity," I say quietly. Macavity's face goes smooth. "You have held London hostage with fear too long."

"Brother…" he whispers. I smack him across the face.

"Brother!" I scream. "We haven't been brothers since we were kits! Do you know who my true brother is? He's in there, holding Quaxo, _his_ brother! A brother for a brother, Macavity. A fair trade, something you wouldn't understand."

"An eye for an eye, Munkustrap. I know that term well," Macavity says in a low voice.

"You take more than an eye, Macavity, and usually it's for nothing," I spit. "Look at what you've done to Quaxo."

"Do you care for me at all Munkustrap?" Macavity asks, his eyes looking distantly afraid.

Tears burn in my eyes, but I push them back as always. Beneath all this, I know that he'd use any emotional weakness to escape my grip. But I can't let him get away this time. If he were any other cat, I would have killed him long ago.

"Macavity, I love you," I whisper, staring down on him and abandoning my icy anger momentarily. "And it hurts." 

"You always were the noble one, good as gold, you are," Macavity says, face filled with a bitter loathing. "You got what you wanted in the end Munkustrap. I hate you so much _it_ hurts."

I feel my anger begin to ebb, accepting the truth of what was and is. I knew he never loved me, I knew he always resented me. Feeling more tears, I jerk my chin towards the room in which Quaxo lies. "All I ever wanted is dead in that room."

"Then maybe I won," Macavity says, grinning. His red face is brilliant, giddy. All his life he has wanted to beat me, I realize. His whole life has been my destruction.

Without hardly any anger, merely sorrow that is much the emotion of my life, I draw my claws across Macavity's throat once, twice. Blood flows easily and sticks to my paws. Macavity dies with a smile on his face. His body loses all the tension it possessed. 

"You'll forever hurt me more," I whisper, almost choking on my words.

Gently I press his eyes closed. Then, with his stagnant blood still hot, I put my head to his shoulder, feeling the completeness of death. The residual anger burns out of me and into my brother's body. Until I find something close to peace, I don't leave his bloody, slain body.

Eventually I have to rise from my fallen nightmare and face the twice as bleak reality. As I stand my legs shake weakly and the hallway spins. I look down at my cruel, beloved brother and decide to leave him where he fell. I touch my paw to my neck and am not surprised to find a large gash weeping blood. I run my paw a little way back, finding the cracked bone and swollen tissue that signals a split skull. 

I look down the hallway, hoping to see the door. Only dark shadows meet my gaze. I begin walking to them, keeping a paw to my neck. Two steps later my knee gives out and I stumble, sinking slowly to a kneeling position. Grief sweeps over me, as does a numbness I've never experienced before. I refuse to look to Macavity's body, or to the door that holds Quaxo's broken body.

Instead, I look at the shadows before me.

And the shadows begin to shimmer. 

Soft, deliberate steps echo before me on the hallway. The slender, small frame of a tom becomes apparent against the black. I let go on all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me and stare dumbly at the sight. White blotches of fur appear, along with a pair of deep brown eyes.

…_Quaxo_…

The impossibility of it makes my head throb. Pain slams through my body, and I feel the overbearing hand of unconsciousness pressing me to the ground. My body pitches forward, my paw shooting out to catch myself.

"Munkustrap!"

Small arms, familiar and sweet, lace about my shoulders. I feel the chest of a phantom against mine. A paw is pressed to my throat, and a thrilling sensation shivers through my veins. Next it touches my head, and euphoria beyond words encases my body. It's warm, soothing, and totally unexplainable. 

My eyes flutter open, as does my mind, realizing that the weakness is gone. My arms are no longer heavy, my head no longer dizzy.

The undeniable face of Quaxo stares at me, worry painted on beautiful features.

"There, that better?" he whispers, and the voice sounds almost real. I nod absently. His face is clear of blood. There isn't a scratch to be found on him, but he seems tangible. Impossible…

I kiss him the cheek and taste tears, taste him. He is compliant, but wears that same worried, anxious look. His paws are all over my body, sending small, warm, healing sensations through my skin.

I look at him, daring to hope and trying not to hurt. "Q-Quaxo?"

"No Munkustrap," he whispers, taking on of my paws and placing it to his face. Tears begin to leak once again from my eyes. "Never Quaxo again. I'm merely Mistoffelees. It's all I can be."

I stare at him, breathing growing labored. Pain, relief—a cornucopia of emotions floods my system. Eventually I find my voice.

"Mistoffelees." His white face nods.

"It's me," he whispers.

I cannot say anything. Words are meaningless. Instead I hug him to me, holding him and swearing to myself I will never let him go, not for the end of the world. I feel his head on my shoulder and fight tears for what I swear is the last time. I rock him gently, worshipping the feel of his arms around me. The darkness of the hallway seems to reach into everything except for our bodies, my world consisting only of Mistoffelees.

"I thought he'd killed you," I finally whisper. Gently I kiss his neck where the wound was supposed to be.

"He almost did," Mistoffelees whispers. I flinch lightly, and he begins to make tiny spirals on my back with his paws. "I became Mistoffelees to save myself."

"Tugger told you, didn't he?" I ask.

Mistoffelees nods against my shoulder. "I can never be Quaxo. Quaxo is my father, not me. I am Mistoffelees, the Original Conjuring Cat. Quaxo is a cat that left his family…but…but…oh, never mind."

My grip tightens on him, as the truth is left unsaid. I squeeze my eyes shut violently. "W-Where are Tugger and B-Bombalurina?"

"They went to get Demeter, see if she's still in the building. She came to save me, you know," Mistoffelees whispers. He pulls back and looks into my eyes. It's like seeing him for the first time. "Everything's all right now."

"I don't know," I say, keeping an iron grip on my voice, "I don't know if I can forgive her."

"I forgave her," Mistoffelees says. "And that's enough."

I slowly close my eyes, savoring the goodness of him. His paw slips up to the base of my head and I willingly rest my head against his gentle shoulder. 

"I saw the fight," he says simply. I breathe deeply, Macavity's face floating before my eyes, mirrored in the haunted look on Mistoffelees.

"I love you," I whisper hoarsely. I kiss his shoulder. "I couldn't let him…I didn't really want to…but I—"

"I understand," Mistoffelees says softly. His small frame shudders. "I thought _he _was going to kill you. Bastet, you scared me."  


"Mistoffelees…did he do—" I begin, but stop abruptly. "Never mind."

Mistoffelees takes a shaky breath. "I'm never leaving you again, Munkustrap."

"Don't," I reply, sitting up straight. I touch his cheek. "Please don't."

Mistoffelees paws slip fluidly around my neck, caressing it. He leans in gently, resting his knees against mine, and kisses me on the lips. It is the sweetest, most redeeming feeling in the world. Comfort takes hold of my body, and I relax for a moment, bathing in the sweet pain of relief and love.

A door far behind us groans then swings open wide. The unmistakable sound of Tugger's rhythmic steps fills the corridor, closely followed by the quieter ones of Bombalurina.

I break away from Mistoffelees, twisting. "WAIT!"

Bombalurina's scream echoes through the halls. There is a sound of running. Mistoffelees and I both spring to our feet, and he raises his arms high. Unnatural light floods the hallway, just in time for me to see a frantic Demeter hurtling down the hall. There is no time to react, and with a shocked, terrified look on her face she crashes directly into me. I stumble back a few steps, but manage to keep my balance.

My arms around her shoulders, Demeter hides her face in my chest. I say nothing and let my body, my heart, fall into the natural role of savior, comforter. I look at Mistoffelees and see him smile tiredly in understanding. Forgiveness…doesn't seem too unthinkable.

Behind Mistoffelees stands Bombalurina and Rum Tum Tugger, Bombalurina's head tucked against Tugger's back, paws clutching his arms. Oblivious, Tugger stares down at the bloody remains of Macavity.

I look to Mistoffelees first, and then to Tugger.

"Never again," I say quietly. I step away from Demeter and walk over to stand beside Mistoffelees. Demeter trembles and looks at me. I remain silent and put an arm around Mistoffelees. He leans against me and closes his eyes.

"I should say," replies Tugger. Slipping an arm around Bombalurina's waist, he gingerly steps by Macavity's corpse, forcing her to come along as well. He squeezes her waist reassuringly, but stops as his eyes rest on Demeter. 

"You—" Tugger begins. I cut him off.

"It's all right Rumsy, even I—"

"Be nice," interrupts Mistoffelees. I feel more of his weight leaning onto me.

I nod. "We might as well do this now."

Tugger leans against the wall beside me, folding his arms and looking expectant. Bombalurina looks caught between a rock and a hard place. She stands to the side of Tugger in the middle of the hall, equally close to her sister and our trio. Demeter stands against the opposite wall, resigned, yet clearly still terrified.

"First off," I being, "Not a word of what has transpired here slips from anyone's tongue. Macavity is dead. If anyone asks how or presses you for information, the only thing you can say is that I killed him. I'd prefer you say nothing, but this is my only option to you."

"Sounds good," Tugger comments.

Mistoffelees mumbles something against my shoulder, and then his body goes slack without a warning. I shout his name and catch him by the shoulders. Everyone pulls in around me, concerned. Mistoffelees opens his eyes to slits, staring into mine.

"Sorry," he murmurs, "I think I'm quite exhausted."

With that his head tips forward and his body eases onto mine. I hoist him up in my arms as I would a kit. Mistoffelees usually hates to be carried—his size and age are rather large sore spots with him, and being carried just draws attention to both. But no, this time he simply loops his arms around my neck and places his head on my shoulder.

"He must be exhausted from this horrid ordeal," Bombalurina says. She runs a paw down his upper arm. "Poor thing."

I focus my gaze on Demeter, feeling the pain of her sister's words burn through my system. Perhaps it's better that Mistoffelees is asleep now.

"What do you think of him, Demeter?" I whisper. Her green eyes glimmer under my stare, just as I want them to. Tears begin to wet her cheeks.

"He's beautiful, Munkustrap," she chokes out. "He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." The back of her paw brushes his leg and it's all I can do not to take that tiny wrist and break it into a million pieces. But I care for her so much…I can't decide what to feel. 

"Demeter, I forgive you because he wants me to," I say, tone dark. I blink once, slowly. "But the price of your friendship is too high a price to pay. I have no other brothers."

Everyone breathes deeply, everyone glances to Macavity. I feel the sharp bite of painful grief once again and my muscles grow taut. I look to Tugger quickly, then back to Demeter.

"I know you see it now," I say, and my tone wavers slightly. "I know you see all you've done, and I know that you're swearing to never do it again. But everything's been ruined, Demeter. It's all gone sour."  


I turn away from the group now, away from my brother's body. I can sense the uncertainty of my companions as easily as I do my own heartbeat. My grip on Mistoffelees tightens, and I breathe in the sweet smell of him.

"Macavity…" Tugger begins, and I feel his comforting paw on my shoulder.

"Leave him as he is," I say gratingly. "I realized as I killed him there was more to him than I know…but what I do know of him isn't worth the effort. Leave him to the mercy of his minions."

'He's your brother, Munkustrap!" comes Demeter's voice. I whirl around, fury crashing in on the seas of my heart. Her body shakes at the sight.

"And due to your fine help, a now vanquished enemy!" I spit. "If he means that much to you, do it yourself. I'm through with giving you second chances Demeter, and I'm through here."

__

I'm through with Macavity…

Six pairs of paws hit the floor behind me as I begin my trek back to the junkyard. Mistoffelees, asleep in my arms once more, mumbles once, then falls silent.

__

…And oh how it hurts.

I bite my bottom and take comfort in the distraction of my own blood.

__

Goodbye, dear brother…I loved you so.

****

~*~ -----@ END PART THREE @----- ~*~

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A/N: Well, that was a little longer than usual, so I apologize. I hope no one is getting heebie-jeebies. Stuff…just pops up in my mind occasionally, and I'm a sucker for angst.Next, in case anyone's wondering, is the epilogue, so stick around if you're interested.


	4. Whatever Epilogue is in Spanish

****

Good as Gold: Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own CATS. I am merely borrowing their cute fuzzy butts.

****

Author's Note: The sweetness of closure. Here's the epilogue to our little tale. I really appreciate every review I've gotten. This little bugger was the sequel of a fic that I wrote for kicks while I was…rather inebriated. I never intended to take it as seriously as I have. Anywho, as you can see, I have grown rather attached to this mini-saga. I hope everyone enjoyed this as much as I have.

****

Rated: R

__

Contains Heterosexual and Homosexual Relationships. Proceed to Read at Your Own Risk.

****

-----@ Mistoffelees @-----

The house of Old Deuteronomy isn't very impressive. His humans, both educators at local schools make a moderate living and give most of what they have away. Hence, the dwelling they occupy is no more than a box with a few walls. It surprises me—you'd have thought the leader of the Jellicles would frolic among the kings.

Yet despite these things I have never seen a happier "family."

They call themselves the Thowsteins, these humans. Mr. and Mrs. Thowstein. Old Deuteronomy has been with them since he was a small kit. When I was first told this I was flabbergasted—who knew humans lived that long?

The Thowstein residence is surprisingly close to the junkyard, a mere six blocks away. It must have been around before the junkyard came to be. The bricks that make it up are old and faded, like dried, bloody spittle.

Ew.

I wince at the thought, staring at the windows' dark shutters. Munkustrap looks up at the worn screen door and sighs. I give him a reassuring smile and a good nuzzle.

"Now or never, I suppose," he mutters, not smiling as he so often does. Good. I dislike false pretenses.

It has been two days since…the attack, and three very trying nights. Aside from my collapse after Macavity's death, I haven't slept a wink. Nightmares, paranoia, and an all-around good case of self-analysis do that to a cat.

Nightmares…ah, I have nightmares that the world has never seen. Macavity is usually the villain of my dreams, but he doesn't dare remain in that role. Each night I am dealt the sight of Victoria, Rum Tum Tugger, Munkustrap—anyone I care for—dead as stone, torture evident. Evident because I am witness, often more, to their demise.

It starts with a stroll. He walks with me, Macavity, down a moonlit, bush-spotted path as romantic as the heart. It's almost as if he were my lover and not Munkustrap.

And then they come. Name any cat that I hold the slightest bit of affection for, and they are there. It never matters. Macavity will catch them, no matter how strong. I don't even know how he does it, but they always wind up writhing in his paws. Then, with a kiss on my patient lips he will give them over to my…care.

I torture them then.

__

I torture them, making them my own victims. I rejoice in the stickiness of their blood and the ecstasy of their agonized screams. I try to stop myself each time but nothing ever works. I am giddy with the violence up until their death, because after all my macabre pleasure is done, it is time then for Macavity's pleasure…my pain. Thrown behind one of the many bushes, I am pressed to the ground as Macavity takes what he pleases. My screams continue to live on in the air, because I always survive.

The first night I rose from my sleep yet to be plagued by this dreadful terror. I woke to he comforting presence of Munkustrap and Victoria, a sight that almost made me weep with joy. Munkustrap wasn't asleep (I'm tempted to think he never does), but Victoria was snoring away beside me. Come to think of it, no wonder Munkustrap wasn't asleep.

We were in the grimy yet familiar oven. Munkustrap runs the junkyard alongside Tugger, and they both have their own dens somewhere amongst the rubble, but I don't think he wanted Victoria anywhere his true home. I can't honestly say I've ever seen it either.

Munkustrap was sitting in a corner, unmoving. Victoria was curled around me, soft white fur caressing every inch of my body. Her face, though peaceful as she slept, was tear-streaked. The thought that I might have never seen her again did cross my mind, but I avoided the concept like the plague. I shook it off. 

Gently I untangled myself from the protective grip of my sister. Munkustrap stared silently, face expressionless. I was a little unnerved by his odd behavior, but said nothing. I sat down in front of him, easing my body between his legs and leaning against his chest. His arms wrapped around me instantly. 

I had forgotten that I was evil.

"What's happened?" I asked. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It couldn't be helped," Munkustrap said. "The junkyard is a mess. When we came back and told everyone this afternoon, almost everyone set about rejoicing."

"Almost everyone?" I asked, and I ran a paw down his thigh.

"I didn't feel too festive, nor did the others," Munkustrap said, referring to Rum Tum Tugger, Bombalurina, and Demeter. "Your sister, as well, hasn't left your side."

I smiled fondly at Victoria. For a moment we had lapsed into silence. I closed my eyes, drinking in the familiar smell of the junkyard, the sound of London streets, and the feel of Munkustrap's chest against my back.

"And is everyone still terrified of me?" I asked quietly. I had hardened my heart—I had returned to Munkustrap, and as long as he sees the good in me I know it's there; it doesn't matter what I or anyone else thinks.

"Some," Munkustrap answered, voice velvet, "But not many. Victoria defied Bustopher Jones for you. He's…he's calling for your exile."

I smiled wryly. "Exile? And here I thought he'd want me dead."

"I'm sorry Mistoffelees. It seems as if all I have done is drag you into more messes then you're due," Munkustrap said. "But with Macavity gone, most of the danger has passed."

__

Except for that which lies in me. I had thought.

I closed my eyes. Gently I began to knead the top of Munkustrap's thighs and wished desperately for some salvation from my self-doubt.

"Don't worry so, Munkustrap," I whisper. "I happen to like messes."

Munkustrap begins to shake. "I can't help _but_ worry! I almost lost you, Mistoffelees. I almost lost you but instead I lost my brother. I'm happy when I shouldn't be, and hurting like hell. I'm not strong enough for another threat!"

Alarmed, I turned around awkwardly. Munkustrap's expression was pained yet serene at the same time. His iron control was slipping, and tears had begun flowing down his face. His grip then had tightened on me once more and his eyelids fallen shut. His tears became those of a statue, dignified and silent. I couldn't even hear him breathing.

The terror I had felt back then was unmerciful. I might have thought Munkustrap didn't like to sleep, but I _knew_ he never cried. Never in the history of all Jellicles or in the future of millennia had I expected this.

I held him then. I wrapped my arms around his strong, wiry frame and fluttered kisses across his shoulders, neck, and face. He stayed silent the entire time, never moving. Tears poured down his face and they mocked me. Munkustrap was like a rock to me. He was older, wiser, with an anger that burned cold and calculating. His _fear_ never showed, his _sadness_ never showed, save the night of the recent Jellicle Ball. But then he had only been depressed, not in mourning. Even I, the tom who had learned to hate my tears from the day I was born had felt the dams break on occasion. I couldn't dissemble myself as well as Munkustrap could.

__

And yet, I had thought then, _here _he_ weeps._

But as frightening as Munkustrap's tears were, they were gone almost as quickly as they'd began. It was as if his tears were part of a faucet and he merely had turned them off. He held me tight long after his crying had ceased, face pressed to my neck as I quietly murmured to him. We stayed like that for an incalculable amount time, and then Munkustrap had raised his head, wiped his face with one paw, and then whispered calmly,

"I'm sorry."

I had to take a deep breath to stay strong. "There's no need to be. You're always sorry over things you can't possibly control. I don't blame you. For _anything_."

The look in his eyes had told me that he would never accept an answer like that, but as usual, he didn't say too much about it. Instead he kissed me desperately, as if I were an apparition. Apologies were carried along with the caress of his lips, and I answered them with my own. If I hadn't been his lover, there might have been some argument.

I keep using the term lover, don't I? Well…there are other reasons I haven't been getting a lot of sleep.

All right, I'll admit that I was scared. It was so soon after Macavity, but that night…it was just something we both needed. It let the pain, the fear, and all the messy emotions we'd been dealing with bleed out into the night. 

It was rather odd, actually. We simply rose to our feet after that kiss and I knew what was going to happen. Munkustrap took my hand and we left the oven, stepping over Victoria quietly. We walked to an old junk pile that looked to be untouched by hand or paw for…centuries. Munkustrap simply rolled a small pot out of the way and led me down to a den full of old comfortable blankets and odd knickknacks. After that…things got a bit muddled.

Rum Tum Tugger had greeted us the next morning with a grin the size of a small continent.

"Thought you'd brought him here. Munksy, you're too predictable."

"Works for me," I had replied evenly, staring Rum Tum Tugger straight in the eye. Munkustrap grinned beside me and folded his arms across his chest.

Rum Tum Tugger stared for a second, then grinned back. "Good thing you started talking to me a bit more, little bro. For a second I wondered if we were actually related."

Munkustrap's smile had faltered then. Rum Tum Tugger caught it and I made sure to give him a "look." We hadn't discussed Quaxo—we _still_ haven't. I knew Munkustrap didn't want to, and I didn't really want to hear about it. I can hold nothing against him—I never knew the tom. I knew Munkustrap though, and that was enough.

"Related? To think I'm related to someone as obnoxiously—"

"Mistoffelees!" cried a bright voice. White arms then encircled my neck and I ended up flat on my stomach.

"—gorgeous as Victoria!" I finished. I twisted beneath her and gave her a fierce hug. She smelled like home. 

"I was so worried about you!" Victoria had squealed into my fur. I smiled and scratch her ears.

"Why so? Don't you have any faith in your older brother?" I asked, tone cheerful.

"No, not when it comes to evil, psychotic toms that kidnap him. Not an itty-bitty bit," she said. Her voice broke a little. I sat up, vaguely aware of Rum Tum Tugger and Munkustrap towering above us. I had tilted Victoria's head up to meet mine. Her blue eyes were clear and wet. I remember how horrid I felt when I saw that.

"All's well, Victoria," I had said softly. I knocked on my head with a paw. "I'm one tough cookie."

She had grinned at that. We stood up and I tried to ignore the quick swipe Munkustrap gave me to clean the dust off of my back. He paid dearly for that. Despite the somewhat jovial turn our conversation had taken, Victoria's face darkened, smile vanishing like a dream.

"Mistoffelees…Daddy…" She had tried to say, but I had help up my paw to silence her. I felt tension rise between the two toms behind me.

"I know," I told Victoria. "And it's nothing I can't handle. I was never his son anyway."

"But he wants you banished!" Victoria had cried, and she had never sounded so torn. She hugged me close, resting her head on my chest. "I told him I'd rather be with you."

Yes, Victoria, my precious sister who had long been Bustopher Jones' dream girl had rebelled. She told me that she had moved in with Jemima. Munkustrap, kindly, had then offered for me to stay with him. I just couldn't refuse an offer like that.

Returning to the junkyard was surprisingly easy. For most, the fear from the Pollicle incident had been replaced with relief at my return. I had never been so shocked in my entire life. Almost every cat welcomed me back with open arms. Victoria stayed with me as one by one the cats arrived, but Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger drifted off—Munkustrap because of his duties, Rum Tum Tugger because of Bombalurina.

Bustopher Jones was the last Jellicle to approach me. His hatred for me was pure in his eyes. Victoria trembled beside me, and I had known right then that I was never going to bow before this tom again. Evil may reside in my soul, and Bustopher Jones could hate me all he wanted for that…but I am what I am.

And, I had thought, in a liberating instant, _Who was he to judge?_

"You vile trickster!" Bustopher Jones had said to me, voice low. I had stood close to him, face tilted to look directly in his eyes.

I ignored his insult. "I will not be returning to your house, Sir."

"I would think not," he spat back.

I then had looked him straight in the eye, searching for a small glimmer of affection. Nothing.

"Then we will part today," I had said. "But I _will_ remain here, in the junkyard."

"As will I."

Victoria's voice rang loud and clear. Bustopher's eyes widened. The other Jellicles, who had gathered round for Munkustrap's upcoming announcement, stared at our little group.

I had smiled. Bustopher Jones was never cruel to me, I realized. He just couldn't understand or love me. He was oppressive to all that lived with him.

__

Welcome to freedom, I had thought, watching Bustopher move to assemble with the other cats before Munkustrap.

Munkustrap made the announcement regarding Macavity. The notorious threat had been removed, he had said. He spoke of how Rum Tum Tugger, Bombalurina, Demeter and I had assisted him in bringing about peace to our tribe. He also thanked Alonzo and wished him a speedy recovery. The black and white tom was still sore and bruised, stitches running along his sides, but Alonzo has never been a very good patient.

And so the past few days have gone by splendidly. The tribe has welcomed me back with open arms, but I'm still as inconspicuous as ever. It's all right—I never was much for attention. Victoria is permanently living with Jemima, and it seems Alonzo might just join the merry family. Good thing Jennyanydots' humans like cats.

I have taken up residency in the junkyard. In Munkustrap's den, to be precise, until "I find a new human."

Just the thought makes me laugh.

Despite popular belief, I am an excellent hunter and better at being an alley cat than anyone ever thought. Humans and their houses…were always more of Victoria's thing. Munkustrap was a tiny bit surprised that I made the transition so easily, a fact that only makes me tease him. But Heaviside, there is nothing better than living with him. I have never been happier in my life.

Except for those nightmares. They are the foreshadowing of trouble yet to come, and I can't understand it. I have morals, know right from wrong, and am considered just. So why my inherent evil? Why my overpowering sense of horror? Can I never escape?

Munkustrap holds me at night. I fall asleep in his arms, then wake up not even a few minutes later, screaming and struggling. I refuse to tell him my dream, but he accepts that. I don't cry, I just lie still and feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest. He won't fall asleep until I do; he is that wonderful. So I end up feigning l sleep for up to an hour before he begins to doze.

He hadn't wanted to come here, to Old Deuteronomy's house. Munkustrap, the bravest creature in all of time, seemed scared to talk to Old Deuteronomy. He'd been obviously avoiding the great tom—anyone with half a brain would know that an event such as Macavity's death would warrant a jingle to Old Deuteronomy's ears.

Instead Munkustrap has made at least two house calls to every Jellicle, making sure each cat is getting along comfortably. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, freshly emancipated from Macavity, are getting downright ornery when Munkustrap comes to place a hiatus on their fun.

Finally, however, it looks as if duty has won out (due in part to my constant prodding). Today everything is laid at the feet of Old Deuteronomy—the Pollicle's attack, my abduction, Macavity's demise, and…uh…the true nature of our "friendship."

Oh, I am _so _nervous. If I were any other cat, I just might faint.

Munkustrap looks over and smiles at me. He knows I'm nervous—he's spent the past day patiently reassuring me that there is nothing wrong with me and no, I am not going to get kicked out of the tribe.

I just wish I'd stop bouncing back and forth between giddiness and depression.

"How do we get in?" I ask, shaking all thoughts from my head.

Munkustrap scratches the door four times and lets out one long, mournful caterwaul.

"Like that. These humans are exceptionally intelligent," he explains. I pad over to where he sits and look up tot he door. There are sounds of movement inside the house.

Suddenly the door swings inward and a tall, skinny human female stares down at us. Her eyes fall on Munkustrap and her face lights up.

"Oh!" she exclaims, crouching down, "You must be here to see Gerry."

She reaches out a hand and Munkustrap nudges it with his head. She scratches him behind the ears, then looks over her shoulder.

"Gerry dear," she calls, "Your friend Sterling is here, and he has another friend!"

I process the information while giving the human my best cutesy look. Gerry must mean Old Deuteronomy, and Sterling is Munkustrap. Humans and their names.

"He's on his way," she says, turning back to us. What an odd human this is, treating us as though we were one of _her_ species. "So what do I call you, little one?"

Katrina, Goddess of the Dawn. Please oh please.

I smile at my own inside joke.

"Ah, you're cute! And look at that coat! My, you look dignified. It's good to know Sterling here has decent friends," the human continues. She looks me up and down one last time, then claps her hands. "Well I have just the name for you. I'm going to call you…Edmond. Not Ed or Eddie or Edmund, mind you, _Edmond_."

Edmond? I almost shrug. I've been worse.

There is the sound of a floorboard squeaking and the women rises to her feet she dusts off her sullied apron and smiles upon us one last time.

"Well that'll be Gerry. You three can attend to your business outside as usual," she says. At that moment, Old Deuteronomy appears, brushing by her calves with a rumbling purr. She touches the tip of his tail and he steps outside.

"Mistoffelees, my boy," he says low, sauntering up to us, "Do shut the door for us."

I look uncertainly to the woman in the hallway, who is looking at us with a small smile. I give Old Deuteronomy an uncomfortable glance, and he nods reassuringly towards me. Munkustrap seems indifferent. 

I raise my paw, uncomfortable with the taboo, and the door eases closed with a fluid motion, clicking shut as gently as a baby's sigh. I cringe after it closes, expecting screams from the occupants of the house. Nothing.

"They're quite reasonable humans," Old Deuteronomy says by way of explanation, holding out his paw. I bow low and touch my paw to his, nonetheless worried about the use of magic in front of a human. He smiles as I rise, a warm and comforting action that never fails to calm me. He moves on to Munkustrap, forgoes the formalities, and simply gives the silver tabby a suffocating hug.

I settle myself down on the cement steps, smiling at the sight. Munkustrap pulls away with a grin on his face, but it's quickly replaced with a troubled look. Old Deuteronomy sits down on the steps and Munkustrap follows him, placing himself between the two of us.

"So tell me of the troubles," Old Deuteronomy commands.

****

~*~ Munkustrap ~*~

Troubles, he asks. Ah, Old Deuteronomy, so blasé about such difficult matters. It's like watching a newscast when talking to this cat. Matter of fact, no emotion. From severed heads to the latest fashion trends, there's no different intonation. When I want to remain that cool I have to be silent. 

I stare, hesitant, into Old Deuteronomy's weathered face. He took in Rumsy and I when we were barely out of kittenhood, despite the fact that we were total punks. He brought the tribe to the junkyard, re-instilled our forgotten sense of right and wrong. He has made me what I am today, and I owe him nothing short of the world.

"Perhaps," he says gently, "You should start at the beginning."

"Yeah," I agree lamely, heaving a sigh. 

There really isn't any way around this, I think to myself. So, without further ado, I open my mouth. For the first sentence, I stutter like a kitten, and then I tell him all. I tell him about the visit to Macavity's hideout, a revelation that makes Mistoffelees stiffen behind me. I tell him of the attack at the junkyard, and the destruction of the Pollicle. I leave out the gory bits. 

"Mistoffelees," I hear myself say, "Took care of it."

Old Deuteronomy nods. Mistoffelees turns his head away, wincing.

Next I relate Mistoffelees' story of his abduction as he has told me, then add in my own. Easily I slide into the rescue end of the story, voice never faltering. I tell him everything in detail, but I make sure I never let on Demeter's betrayal, or Bombalurina's manipulation. I make the facts fit. I also don't say anything about what was said between Macavity and I when I killed him. Some things are best left unknown. Besides, I know that Old Deuteronomy can read the pain in my eyes.

The old tom stares at me as I fall silent, letting the story linger in our minds and hearts. I debate as to whether I should tell him about Quaxo or not, then decide against it. No one, save Mistoffelees and Rumsy will ever know the truth about that. If Old Deuteronomy senses that I'm holding something back, so be it.

"Macavity…was your doing," Old Deuteronomy finally says, but I don't know if he means it as a question or a statement. I nod, either way.

"I am sorry you had to go through with that," he says softly, his voice a rumble. I nod again, and try to keep my eyes from watering in front of him. His gaze reaches mine, and he sees my struggle. For a moment it seems that he is going to reach out to me, and I know that if anyone touches me I'll lose it. But instead Old Deuteronomy just heaves a sigh.

"There should no longer be any threats to the well-being of the junkyard," I say. Mistoffelees shifts behind me. "I apologize for all that has happened in the past few days."

Old Deuteronomy waves his paw. "No need for apologies. The violence that has occurred was necessary, as it always is, unfortunately. It seems that blood does the talking in this world."

"Not for me," I say quickly. Old Deuteronomy looks up to me with a ghost of a smile on his face.

"I know," he says. He looks out towards the street. "Munkustrap, the next Jellicle Ball will undoubtedly be my last."

I close my eyes. "Yes, Sir."

"Will you accept the position of Leader _and_ Protector?"

"As long as I am able."

And with those words my fate is sealed, a future long in coming that I have wanted and feared from the minute I was named Protector. It is a role that I can fill with assured strength and ease, and a role I have wanted as well. A good fit for me, but there is always that nagging sense of self-doubt, along with the knowledge that for me to become the Leader, Old Deuteronomy must go.

Still wary of being touched, I simply open my eyes again and make sure Old Deuteronomy understands all the things I can't afford to say right now. He nods as his face reads mine and smiles. I smile back as easily as I breathe.

"Well then, is that all you've come to say?" Old Deuteronomy says pleasantly.

"No."

"Oh?"

I shift uncomfortably, feeling my stomach drop.

"It's about…me…me and…Mistoffelees."

The feel of him beside me, coming to my side.

"Mistoffelees and you?"

"Yes. Uh…We—"

"Just spit it out, Munkustrap."

"Yes, sir. I…er…I mean we…are—"

"What Munkustrap is trying to say," Mistoffelees cuts in, "Is that we're in love with each other."

I feel my eyes widen a bit. Well, Mistoffelees is about as subtle as a bulldozer when he feels like it. It's a very endearing part of him.

Old Deuteronomy chuckles, much to my mortification. Mistoffelees shrinks a bit beside me, his arm brushing against mine. 

"Mistoffelees, oh, I think I like this one!" Old Deuteronomy chortles. I blink, surprised.

"Huh?"

Old Deuteronomy wipes his eyes, and Mistoffelees grows smaller. "I believe that is the first time you have said more than two words to me, Mistoffelees. And what words they were."  


I begin to grow uneasy. "It's the truth."

Old Deuteronomy snorts. "Well _of course_ it is! I might be old, Munkustrap, but I'm not blind."

"It's that obvious?" Mistoffelees asks, sounding a tad disappointed.

"Like breath," Old Deuteronomy says, "It's always there but you don't think about it very often."

"So what does it mean, then?" I ask.

"Mean?"

"Yes. Surely this—"

"You two are truly in love with each other, correct?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees says softly.

"Of course."  


"Then what's the problem?"

"There…isn't one," I say slowly. "With us. I'm thinking about the tribe. Is this what's best for the tribe?"

Old Deuteronomy waves his paws. "Don't let other cats run your life and ruin you two. Besides, would you abandon Mistoffelees for the sake of the tribe?"

I look at his eyes, wondering if this is a trick question. Either way, I'm answering truthfully.

"Never."

"So there's no point as to what, I, the tribe, or the rest of the world thinks."

He smiles as he says this, holding his paws up. After a moment, I begin to grin as well. Somehow my arm finds its way around Mistoffelees shoulders. 

"Well then," I say, "I guess _now_ I'm finished."  


"One moment, though, before you go," Old Deuteronomy says. He leans down to Mistoffelees, and then whispers something in his ear. Mistoffelees closes his eyes and his expression changes to pain, and then to inexplicable relief. I struggle to keep my expression neutral.

Mistoffelees gives a watery smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Old Deuteronomy says. He smiles reassuringly at me. "Don't worry Munkustrap. Everything always turns out all right in the end."  


I nod, then rise to my feet. With a quick salute, I make my way down the steps, Mistoffelees at my tail. We don't say anything until we leave Old Deuteronomy's block. Then I stop and turn around to face him. He stares up at me with big eyes.

"Everything all right?" I ask.

Mistoffelees nods. "Of course. We just got a green light, what could be bad?"

__

You're having nightmares every night, so bad that you scream and claw in my arms.

I hold a brief debate within my heart over whether I should ask him what Old Deuteronomy told him, or simply let things be.

"Old Deuteronomy gave me a mini-lecture, if that's what you're wondering," Mistoffelees says, breaking into my thoughts. I step beside him, and then we begin walking again.

"About…"

Mistoffelees blinks slowly. "He told me I'm not evil."

"Evil?"

"Those nightmares I've been having…well, Macavity…" he trails off. I slow down a bit. "Macavity…said some things."

Things, that I realize, probably will never be revealed to me. 

We've reached the gate of the junkyard. I catch Mistoffelees by the wrist. I pull him to me like a mouse. He lets out a squeak that is completely adorable. Crushing his body against one of the pillars that hold the gate, I kiss him like a drowning cat. Then my lips travel across his jaw, down his neck, spreading out along his shoulders, then back to his lips. He moans into my mouth.

"Mistoffelees," I say, breaking the kiss. My breathing is a tad ragged. "Macavity was evil, yet I loved him all the same. You are not, in the tiniest, teensy-weensy bit, evil, and I love you a thousand fold more than him."

Mistoffelees leans in and kisses me on the mouth. Oops. Now I'm going to melt all over the pavement if I'm not careful.

"No one can ever be a hundred percent good," he says. His eyes turn shiny and wet. "But I'm no where near evil. Old Deuteronomy and you made me realize that."

I smile, as does he. I hold him close, feeling the coming happiness of our future. It's as if with that statement our lives have finally fallen back together like a jigsaw puzzle. 

"So," I say after awhile, "How do you want to let everyone know?"

"I don't think a public announcement is necessary," Mistoffelees says, burying his face in my neck. "Let them find out as we go along. I'm not going to refrain from kissing you in public any longer, that's for sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good," I say. I want to stay like this—hugging in the sunshine like a fool. Oh, I'd be a fool forever if this is what it's like.

"Munkustrap?" Mistoffelees asks after a bit.

"Hm?"

"Let's go back to the den," he says. I go to ask him why, when suddenly a dizzying feeling thrills down my spine. I close my eyes to ward off the sensation.

When I open them I'm standing in the middle of the den.

"What the…"

Mistoffelees suddenly dances around in front of me. He's jumping back and forth with a grin on his face the size of an elephant.

"Ha! I knew I could pull that off!" he says. He cups my face in his paws. "You don't mind do you?"

"What…" I ask, words mushy from his paws squishing my lips, "Did you just do?"

"Transported us here by magic. Basically your soul arrived and then your body," he says. He claps his paws, then jumps down on the large blanket in the den. "It's hard magic you know. You could act a little impressed."

I sit down beside him on the blanket. "Oh."

He rolls his eyes. "You don't recover from magic very easily do you?"

"Uh…nah."

Mistoffelees giggles. He cuddles close to me, and we lay down on the blanket, arms entwined. I lie quietly, staring at the wall and thinking about what the future might bring. After a while, I hear the deep, even sound of someone breathing, a sound that has been vacant from this den for quite some time.

Looking down, I see the beautiful, placid face of Mistoffelees, fast asleep in my arms.

And there are no screams.

****

~*~ -----@ END @----- ~*~


End file.
